


Pop!ular

by dainochild



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dainochild/pseuds/dainochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world of popular music is a ridiculous one, but none of the Dex Holders-turned-idols really realised just how ridiculous it all was until Blue and Red join the stage, battling with each other, emo vs pop, to reign supreme. Also Team Plasma is kind of trying a new liberation approach by making N a pop star, but only Black seems interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this isn't a particularly well-written fic but it's fun to write and I hope it'll be fun to read! This prologue is basically just setting up some anti-pop culture cynicism and background,,

Platinum proofread her article for the dozenth time. It hadn’t taken long to write, quickly adapted from the Elite Four’s official media release, the local police’s, Interpol’s  _and_  an interview with Elite Four member Marshall, but if the news station had any credibility it would run it on the front page tomorrow morning, or be the lead story on the morning show, or be given the priority it deserved.

The door opened. Platinum jumped, but didn’t cover her screen like she wanted to as the morning show anchor walked in, wearing track pants and a lumpy woollen jumper, carrying Starbucks in one hand and a bag of makeup and clothes in the other.

“Ah, in late again, Berlitz?” Gabby looked up at the clock and frowned. “Or is it early?”

“Late,” Platinum replied. “I haven’t been home yet.”

“Oh, honey, you’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself,” Gabby sympathetically cooed. Apparently she always babied the interns. “I have to be here at awful o’clock but you’re lucky, you don’t! Man, covering music must be nice…”

“Only if you don’t care about real news,” Platinum muttered to herself. But, still, Gabby was the anchor. She could pick what stories to read out and what not to with her temper. It was a pity she always chose the tabloid over the genuinely newsworthy (“It’s a morning show, hun, they need something juicy to wake ‘em up.”) but the power was still hers. Platinum quickly printed her article. Her heart pounded as she picked it up and handed it to Gabby.

“Hmm, what’s this?” Gabby asked, not looking at it. “Is it about the  _Monochrome_ breakup?”

“No, we’ve covered that to death,” Platinum replied. “This is something different. I don’t care if it’s shared on the air or printed in the morning editions, but I think it’s really important to report.”

“Okay, let’s have a look,” Gabby said, smoothing it out. Of course that meant she had to read it aloud so Platinum heard all her flaws in a dramatic news anchor voice. “‘Plasma Plot Prevented: Pokémon League siege stopped before it started.’” She chuckled. “That’d be the print edition part, huh?”

Platinum shrugged awkwardly, feeling oddly embarrassed.

Gabby continued in the anchor voice. “‘Infamous Pokémon Rights activist group Team Plasma were discovered to have’ — hun, that’s too long and wordy, news has gotta be snappy, not grammatically correct, definitely not so passive — ‘a castle under the Pokémon League as their base of operation.’ Spooky, but we don’t wanna get people freaked out over nothing, y’know?”

“It’s not nothing,” Platinum insisted. “Marshal is convinced they were trying to take over the Pokémon League and force everybody to release their pokémon.” She scrambled for her interview notes. “And, look, he even found one of Ghetsis’ plans!”

Gabby looked at Ghetsis’ horribly cursive handwriting with disdain. “You can read that? Damn, hun, you’re amazing.”

“I’m serious, Team Plasma’s up to something, and we’ve got to let people know!”

Gabby placed a hand on her shoulder, not patronisingly, but Platinum still wanted to take it as such. “You were in that Sinnoh stuff a few years ago, weren’t you? With Team Galactic?”

“ _Yes_ , I was  _twelve_  and I had to go into  _Hell_  on my own because nobody else knew what was going on,” Platinum replied. “I want to be a journalist to let people know what’s going on, I want to report  _news_ , not some… some… waste of time about bands breaking up just because they’re popular! That’s not  _news_!”

Gabby’s eyes narrowed. “It’s news if our viewers and readers are interested in hearing about it. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Platinum sighed heavily.

Gabby looked down at the article. “I’ll fix some things and show it to the boss-man, but you’ve got to go home and sleep.”

Platinum sighed heavily and nodded.

“After all, today the  _Monochrome_  girls are releasing their first single as  _Shiro_!” Gabby brightly chirped. “You’ll have to be fresh to interview White.”

Platinum tried really hard not to groan but it just slipped out.

“Go home,” Gabby reminded her, walking from the room.

Why, why did Platinum have to be an intern stuck in entertainment reporting? Hadn’t she done enough to  _deserve_  to report real news? No matter what Gabby said, celebrities and their drama would never, ever be important, and it wasn’t worth the time they gave it.

Platinum walked back to her desk. She closed her laptop and slid it into her bag. After a moment of hesitation, she put her interview notes and Ghetsis’ plan in too. Sometimes, she wondered if she really ought to have bothered saving this world from Cyrus. He certainly wouldn’t’ve liked pop music.


	2. Going Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the breakup of their successful emo band Monochrome, Black and Cheren are looking for a new lead singer.

It was the day of White and Bianca’s new release and Cheren was more insufferable than ever.

“ _Shiro_ ,” he hissed, pacing Alder’s office. “ _Shiro_! Because their names both mean white! Like when I said we needed to be _Monochrome_ cos our names all mean black AND white! They’re totally stealing my ideas!”

“C’mon, Cherry, that was four years ago,” Alder said. “It’s clearly just a play off what your old band, they’re the white part of _Monochrome_ and now that they don’t have the black part —”

“I HATE THEM!” Cheren shouted. He glared at Black. “You’d better never talk to _her_ again!”

Black sighed heavily and said nothing. He’d know, from the start, that starting an emo band was a bad idea.

“Cherry, that’s unfair, they’re twins.”

“Stop calling me Cherry.”

Alder stood up, staring down at him, and firmly said, “Cherry-pie.”

Black leapt up. “I’m getting air.” He didn’t know whether or not Cheren was actually dating their _kinda old_ former-League-champion-turned-manager, but sometimes it really seemed like it and Black didn’t want to know.

White had been warned Black it was coming for a long time. Black hadn’t been surprised at all. They were, after all, eighteen. The time for emo music was passing. White knew it. Bianca knew it. Cheren still called emo ‘a way of life’. Black had to wonder how his life had become _this_ after a childhood of dreaming about being just like Pokémon Master Red.

Like most disasters in Black’s life, it started when White and Cheren had agreed that something was a good idea.

“We’re a band now,” fourteen-year-old White had cheerfully declared in contrast to their Hot Topic outfits. “I’m lead singer. Bianca’s supporting and guitar. Cheren’s bass. Black, you’re drums and rapping.”

Black had thought that it would pass from day one. Then they practiced every day. White stayed up half the night writing songs about the pain ‘crawling in her skin’ as Mom gave her nothing but support. Cheren decided to name the band _Monochrome_ , because their names all meant black or white (he pointedly ignored that Black’s real name was Hilbert and White’s was Hilda, as they all had done since hearing about the colour-named Kanto Dex Holders). And making emo songs in the garage was kind of fun. Then Bianca’s father heard what White was singing and protested.

“You don’t have any problems!” he told Bianca. “You’re perfectly happy and you’re never playing this music again!”

Bianca screamed, “THIS IS WHO I REALLY AM, DADDY!” and Black realised that maybe this wasn’t going to be so easy to get out of.

They started recording demos. They sent them out. They got signed. They got really popular. Thousands of teenagers worldwide, the same age as them, would turn up to hear White put on a rough, screaming voice and sing lyrics such as “CRAWLING IN MY SKIN, THESE WOUNDS THEY WILL NOT HEAL!”

The money was good, and it was kind of fun. Black didn’t have to do much talking in interviews or concerts: White and Cheren were the real stars. They released two albums, had singles at the top of the global charts, had music videos full of wind and screaming and tears and broken glass. It was still kind of fun. Black thought it was kind of funny, actually, but he never dared say that to anybody but Bianca and their manager, Alder: White and Cheren were deathly serious.

“Emo isn’t a phase, it’s a way of life,” Cheren would say.

Then White grew out of her emo phase, and thus the band. Then White realised that Bianca agreed, and went to make ‘sweet music’ with her. Apparently after the sex, they actually did make some new, non-emo songs, and then suddenly Black was standing with Cheren and Alder listening to White and Bianca awkwardly explain that they were leaving the band.

“It’s not personally,” White quickly explained to Cheren. “We’ve just been at this for years. I can’t even think of anything else we can do with emo. Time to move on with dignity, right B?”

“Yep,” Bianca agreed cheerfully.

Cheren fumed but snapped, “Fine.”

“We just feel that, in order to grow musically, we need to spend some time apart,” White explained in the press conference.

When she was alone with Black, White clarified, “If I ever have to sing another song about running away from home cos ooh, mummy and daddy just don’t GET me, or slitting my wrists cos a boy dumped me, I swear, I’ll murder-suicide the both of us.”

Black patted her shoulder reassuringly, but made a note to stay away from White for a while. He’d been staying with Cheren since, pretending to be so angry with White he couldn’t stay in the same room as her rather than terrified of what she’d do to him.

Honestly, Black thought it was time to bow out gracefully. He wouldn’t ever be the youngest Unova Champion now, but he could still become one. He didn’t regret becoming a pop star. But he couldn’t imagine leaving Cheren now. He didn’t want Cheren to feel abandoned. He didn’t want Cheren to turn on the TV, see Black battling and hate him.

So if Cheren wanted to make more music, well, Black would tough it out. How much longer could Cheren’s emo phase last? Especially without a lead singer.

Black walked into the lobby. Then his life changed forever when he saw _him_. He had long, bushy green hair that seemed to restrain itself in a ponytail, wore an all-gold Rubik’s Cube on his belt, and was barking back and forth with a zorua.

Black was so weirded out that he had to go over and say, “Hi.”

The guy looked up at him with extremely large blue eyes and observed, “You are Black, the drummer of _Monochrome_.”

Dammit. Not a fan. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“My… ‘father’ enjoys the song about trying too hard and coming so far, though it apparently does not matter in the end,” he continued. “I do not.”

Black was so relieved that he laughed. “Thanks for the honesty. It’s not for everyone.” Himself very much included. “Um, this might seem kinda weird, but can I touch your zorua?”

The guy sighed irritably. “He is not mine. He is his own pokémon and no Trainer rules him.”

Black blinked in surprise. “I like the sound of that, actually…”

He stared straight into Black’s eyes with an overwhelmingly blue, searching look.

“I’ve never really been around pokémon,” Black admitted, hurried and awkward. “Uh, my mum, she was kinda overprotective so we didn’t really see them much, and Nuvema’s a small town so — yeah, never happened.” Black laughed nervously. “Not that you should care, I just, I’ve always loved pokémon, and —”

He grabbed Black’s hand, placing it atop the zorua’s head. The fur was quite coarse, but Black was captivated.

“There,” he said, releasing Black’s hand. Black reluctantly withdrew it. “I hope that you love pokémon enough to do what is best for them.”

“Sure, always,” Black replied, though he had no idea what the guy meant.

“My name is N,” he said. “Perhaps we will see each other again. I am to join a band with this record company.”

“I hope so,” Black replied. “That we’ll see each other again. Um. Good luck with the music. And all.”

He hoped that band was _Monochrome_ , or whatever they were calling it now. Alder had said that whoever he had in mind would draw in three times their previous audience, well, Black could image N’s eyes could draw in the entire world.

When he glanced back at N on his way out, Black realised that N was completely gorgeous — and a total freak. But, well, who wasn’t a freak in the music industry?

By the time Black managed to sneak through the back alleys back to his and White’s apartment, _Shiro_ ’s song was at the top of the charts. Contrary to White’s indie plans, it was a pop rock song with heavy electronica influences called _All the Things She Said_. It was basically ‘Oh god I wanna make out with that girl she’s so hot but Daddy won’t like it damn oh well gonna do it anyway’ and Black was certain Bianca had not only written it, but suggested the music video too. The music video featured them making out in the rain in _school girl uniforms_.

The door opened behind him.

“Ooh, like it then?” White asked, smirking.

“You’re really targeting the Kanto market, aren’t you,” Black said. “Has Bianca’s dad seen it?”

White shrugged. “He’ll probably think it’s better than the emo bullshit.” She jumped over the back of the couch, flopping against him. “Does Cherry still hate us?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

White sighed heavily. “Well… well. He’s pathetic then. And I don’t need someone that pathetic keeping me down.”

Black smiled weakly. “He’ll be fine once we start making music again.”

White groaned. “Don’t subject yourself to more emo, Black!”

“Don’t tell me what to subject myself to.”

After all, N was joining a band, Alder was trying to find them a new lead singer, the two were very likely to be linked, N had really pretty eyes…

And just to make it seem all the more likely, Alder called him that night excitedly reporting that he’d found them a new leader singer, he couldn’t wait for them to meet, come in at 12 tomorrow, it’s perfect, etc, etc, oh yeah don’t tell White it’s super-top secret.

Black spent all morning convincing himself it really had to be N. Who else could it possibly be? He hadn’t heard about Elesa signing anybody new to the label. Not that he had regular conversations with Elesa or anything, but… it had to be N.

He walked into their usual studio-cum-office three minutes late and wondered why the new person sitting in front of Alder didn’t have bushy green hair, rather sleak brown hair, and was so short, and turned to him and had boobs and brightly said, “Hey, you’re cute! You’re the angst-rapper, right?”

“I guess?” Black managed to reply. His head was spinning with confusion.

She smiled (kind of like a wolf at a lamb) and said, “I hear you were into the Kanto League back when Red was in it. Recognise my adorable face?”

Black slowly shook his head.

“Hmph. Always was overshadowed by those idiot boys.” She flicked her hair back elegantly. “I’m Blue. Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too,” Black replied, though it would’ve been better to be meeting N. He took his seat beside Cheren, and quickly said hello.

Cheren didn’t reply. He was side-eyeing Blue.

Blue kept smiling pleasantly.

“So!” Alder brightly said. “You might’ve seen some of Blue’s movies —”

“Romantic comedies,” Cheren hissed under his breath.

“But I’ve wanted to go into music for a real long time!” Blue insisted. The wide-eyed excited act was pretty good. All she’d have to do was flatter Cheren a bit and he’d be on her side. “My sorta-brother Silver already does rock, which is kinda cool, but I’m not all that experienced on my own and I just always _loved_ _Monochrome_ , it was so brilliant, I cried all day when you broke up.”

Black didn’t believe that for a second. Blue had to be twenty, at least, even if she passed for about sixteen, and if Black was remembering the Kanto Tournament right, she’d spent most of her time sassing people, not battling.

Cheren lapped it up.

“But I don’t think I’d ever be able to replace White, and I don’t want to,” Blue continued. “I wanna do music _inspired_ by how great you guys were, but _better_.”

“I guess we can work with that,” Cheren relented like he wasn’t burning for revenge.

Blue smiled. “I promise, it’ll be amazing. We’ll be amazing.”

Black doubted that. He only voiced his scepticism when he and Cheren were alone.

“It’s very strange,” Cheren agreed. “From romantic comedy movies to emo music? But her sorta-brother, that’s got to be Silver, and if you know anything about what Silver’s music is like, it makes sense.”

Black didn’t know anything about Silver’s music, just that Silver’s primary motivation for being a singer was bringing shame to Team Rocket. All the daddy issues around ‘my father runs a criminal organisation’ probably inclined Silver towards the emo side of rock.

When Blue turned up the next day with lyrics and declared, “They’re bound to be good, my sorta-brother Silver helped me write them,” Black found out he was right. He flicked through the notebook, marvelling at the cutesy handwriting forming gems such as ‘ _Wake me up inside, call my name and save me from the dark_ ’. It was very, very difficult not to laugh.

“This is brilliant,” Cheren breathed, snatching the notebook from Black. “Better than anything White ever came up with.”

“Now now, don’t be rude to your ex-members just because I’m better,” Blue giggled. “I can’t scream-sing like that, so I was thinking, maybe we could go for a… um… more ethereal sound.”

Cheren looked at Black, clearly demanding an opinion.

Black shrugged. “We did say we were gonna be experimenting with new styles. In the breakup press conference.”

“Good point,” Cheren said. He didn’t even grit his teeth. Progress was excellent. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Blue had an entire songbook of lyrics and was extremely certain of the music to go with it, so it was actually some of the easiest song writing of Black’s career. Usually they wrote according to who had just experienced a breakup (usually White) or a fight with their parents (usually Bianca) and those things weren’t easy to predict. And because of that system, usually whoever wrote the lyrics wasn’t very willing to compromise or edit them. Black had only written the lyrics to a couple of their songs and he’d definitely been the worst in that respect. Blue, however, seemed distant enough from the pain she was writing about to edit it _without being asked to_.

“Did you really write these?” Black asked quietly in one session for a song about breaking up with some demanding guy while Cheren was in the other room.

Blue tutted. “Doubting my commitment to the emo way of life, Black-dear?”

“…kinda easy when you call me that, yeah.”

She crossed out a line and wrote over it. “Well. Silver might have done most of the work on this one. And a few of the others. He’s a very tragic guy, y’know?”

“Why’re you doing this?” Black demanded.

Blue glared at him. “Why’re _you_ doing this? You clearly hate it. Your little boy-toy might be too blind to see it, but you should’ve gotten out when your sister did.”

“I don’t hate it that much,” Black insisted. “I just… I only wanna make sure Cheren’s not gonna get hurt again so soon, okay?”

“Okay, I’m not gonna hurt your boy-toy by ditching the band.”

Black struggled not to sigh. With effort, he replied, “Okay. Thanks.”

Blue nodded and scribbled out a few more words. She paused. “Besides… pretty much all the Dex Holders ended up in music careers. And acting. And modelling. Seems like the natural thing after saving the world.”

“…heroes become pop stars?”

Blue smiled brightly. “Precisely, Black-dear.”

When Cheren returned, Blue announced, “We need to come up with a name, before Elesa gets on our case about it.”

“Bloody Gothic Rose 666,” Black deadpanned.

“Get serious, Black,” Cheren scowled.

“Yeah, seriously,” Blue agreed.

They decided on _[bruised]_. Apparently the lowercase and square brackets were important.

Black didn’t feel very close to Blue, and they didn’t get much closer during the recording sessions. She charmed Cheren so brilliantly he wouldn’t hear a bad thing about her, but she hadn’t even tried with Black. Perhaps because with Cheren on her side, Black would just passively go along with whatever and phase out to wonder where N was and what he was doing and why he was so pretty. Blue was just someone he worked with and tried not to be too suspicious of. Regardless, they worked well together. Black had never seen an album come together so quickly, or so well. Next thing he knew, their debut was a week away, and he still hadn’t told White who their new band member was and if she saw the debut and remembered who Blue was, she’d be so pissed off.

Alder and Elesa still refused to let him tell.

“You’re not working with White anymore, she should understand,” Elesa replied. “This is gonna be the best kind of break! You’re debuting at the same time as another one of our bands, and it’s going to be so _fantastical_.”

“Is N in that band?” Black asked before he could stop himself.

“Why, yes,” Elesa replied, smirking slightly. “You noticed that addition then?”

“We met, briefly,” Black quickly explained. “Before he was signed. In the lobby. Haven’t seen him since.”

Elesa nodded slowly. “Well. They’ll be called _Natural Harmony_ , it’s a trio of very fantastic boys, and that’s as much as you need to know!”

“We’re not debuting together?” Black asked.

“Oh, of course not, can’t have emo and pop on the same stage,” Elesa laughed. She was way too gleeful. It made Black very, very suspicious. “Now, get back, you’ve gotta rehearse!”

On the day of their debut, Blue turned up with her hair dyed black and heavily layered in true emo style. She was wearing a large t-shirt with a sequined red broken heart over where her heart would be, red and black arm socks, and it all went downhill and tulle from there so quickly that Black couldn’t look at her without snickering.

“Okay boys, our big day is finally here!” Blue announced. “Isn’t it great?!”

She sounded somewhere between a soccer mum and a soccer coach.

“It’s been really fun working together, huh?” she continued. “So let’s make this concert amazing and _beat that goddamn pop band who’re trying to steal my limelight_.”

She sounded legitimately pissed off.

“So boys, emo the hell up _right now_.”

Black quickly struggled into his black skinny jeans and put on his eyeliner in rings mastered over the years. Being the drummer, he didn’t wear loose arm socks, just a long-sleeve fishnet top under a t-shirt very similar to Blue’s. Cheren had the same, albeit much tighter than Blue and Black’s. So they were matching, huh? Probably to create a sense of unity.

They went on stage to the screams of much younger teenagers, and, well, that part felt pretty much as great as always. Black liked performing. He was never nervous about it, because even if he screwed up, their fans were happy just to see them.

Silence fell as Blue approached the mic. She pulled the microphone viciously from the stand and sang angrily into it, “ _Now I will tell you what I’ve done for you…_ ”

And the screaming started again louder than ever, even though it was a song no one had heard, just because Blue sold it that well.

“ _Fifteen thousand tears I’ve cried! Screaming, deceiving and bleeding for you, and you, still won’t hear me…_ ” She clung to the microphone stand, tilting with it, as she airily cried, “ _Going under…!_ ”

And with the bridge, they were completely hers. As she thanked them over screams of complete adoration, Black felt more willing to be hers too. Begrudgingly.

Black wanted to stay on stage longer, but they had strict orders to perform then go wait in their dressing room. Elesa was terrifying when disobeyed, so they obeyed.

“Okay,” Blue panted, scrambling for the TV remote. “Let’s check out our preppy competition.”

 _Natural Harmony_ was already performing, mid-instrumental introduction. The shot was on their drummer, a red-and-white jacket wearing, strained smiling sixteen-year-old boy with very large blue hair. It panned across to N, playing a guitar even though it didn’t really sound like there was much guitar in the track, and oh god he looked beautiful. They’d brushed his hair and Black kinda of didn’t like it as much but at the same time it just looked so nice and he wanted to run his fingers through it so badly.

Then the singing started and the camera quickly cut to the singer as he crooned, “ _Baby can’t you see, I’m fallin’…_ ”

“NO FUCKING WAY!” Blue shrieked.

It took Black a moment. He squinted at the screen, at the tight blue jeans and red short-sleeved jacket and mussed up black hair, but it wasn’t until the singer opened his blood red eyes that Black realised who it was.

“NO FUCKING WAY!” he shrieked too.

“What?” Cheren asked. “It’s just a bad pop song.”

“IT’S RED!” Black shouted. “CHAMPION RED!”

Blue understood his distress. “AFTER ALL THIS TIME HE’S BACK FROM MT SILVER AND… AND THIS IS WHAT HE’S DOING?! RIGHT NOW?! THIS IS SO NOT FAIR! HE’S GONNA STEAL ALL MY LIMELIGHT! WHAT A FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

“TOTAL FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Black agreed.

They both fell silent and looked at the screen again. Red was _dancing_ as he sang, “ _With a taste of your lips I’m on a high, you’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under_.”

Red.

Black’s childhood idol. The ultimate Pokémon battler. The undefeated Champion of Kanto and Johto. Singing pop. Cheesy pop. About kissing. And that wasn’t even the worst thing. The worst thing was… _He was kind of good._

“Oh, it is so on,” Blue hissed. “We’ve gotta fucking crush them.”

“Destroy them,” Black agreed.

Cheren shook his head. “It’s only stupid pop.”

They all glanced at the screen again.

Red blew a kiss at the camera.

Blue snarled and snapped the remote in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs features in this chapter include: 'All the Things She Said' by t.A.T.u., 'Crawling' and 'In the End' by Linkin Park, 'Bring Me To Life' and 'Going Under' by Evanescence and 'Toxic' by Britney Spears. All lyrics quoted are from these songs and not my own!


	3. Wonderwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red reflects on the path that led him to become the frontman of a pop group called Natural Harmony. Not that he knows the name of it or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge apologies for how severely delayed this chapter was! Time really just escaped me. The funny thing (from my POV anyway) is that I was expecting to update this fic every other week based off how much I was ignoring my lectures... Then suddenly they got interesting and I got all these research scholarships and suddenly it was eight months later and I was a freakin' nerd loving university. Typical.

Like most things in Red’s life, it happened because of Green.

Red really did love Green a lot, but he was such a shit sometimes. He’d forgiven Red for beating him at the Pokémon League minutes after Green had become Champion, he’d forgiven Red for being popular and getting all kinds of fame and attention he’d never asked for or wanted, but he still wouldn’t pay attention to Red beyond sulking about those things. And Green was a very vocal, very aggressive sulker, so Red didn’t really want to be around Green when he sulked. In fact, Red was so eager to avoid it he hid on Mt Silver for a couple of years. He had his pokémon, so he wasn’t lonely or anything, but he did kind of engage in fantasies of Green climbing the mountain and telling him to come the fuck home already a bit too often. Around the eighty-two month mark, Red realised it wasn’t gonna happen. Blue had messaged him in concern, Gold had visited to make sure he was alive, Yellow sent fortnightly care packages with her butterfree when she couldn’t deliver them herself, Professor Oak sometimes called him to say he was an idiot and come down already then hang up, but nothing from Green. Nothing for eighty-six months. Red had been too lost in his fantasy to realise what a bad omen that was.

When he came down from the mountain and went to Green’s fully intent on telling him what a dick he was, Red found Green writing music. With an acoustic guitar.

“…are you a busker now?!” Red gasped.

Green looked over his shoulder at him and snorted. “Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?”

“I’ve been living on a mountain for seven years.”

Green looked back at his music sheet, writing a couple of notes before he replied, “Really? I didn’t notice. Too busy being the only _good_ musician out of Gramps’ fucking collection.”

Red kicked the back of Green’s chair snarling “I hope you end up on a street corner playing nothing but fucking _Wonderwall_!”

“The fuck, Red?! That’s sick!” Green shouted.

Red didn’t care. He was angry. He even slammed the door on his way out. How did Green not _notice_? Even if Red wasn’t completely sure if they were best friends or not any more, they were rivals! Green always knew what Red was doing, to a freaky level of detail, even! What, had Green suddenly developed a _healthy_ attitude to Red or something?!

Since he couldn’t exactly go ask Green now, Red skulked off to Viridian Mall to check out if he really was such a hot-shot musician. What he found was popular music stores filled with overwhelmingly pristine posters of five boy-band members wearing carefully matched clothes that were slightly different enough to express their personalities, all labelled _Top Percentage_. When Red looked closer, past all the photoshop, he realised it was Gold, Ruby, Wally and two other guys he didn’t recognise. _Gold_ was in on this shit? Seriously?

When Red walked to another section of the store and saw an angsty poster of Silver dressed all visual kei, he realised why Gold was in on this shit. Gold always tried to show an interest in whatever Silver was doing, even to ridiculous degrees. Maybe he’d tried music because Silver was doing it and ended up liking it.

Red had never had to try to show an interest in whatever Green was doing. They’d both grown up obsessed with pokémon and training and becoming Masters. That had always been enough. But now, fresh out of eighty-six months of Green not even trying, maybe Red had to try. Green would have to notice Red if he ended up on one of these big posters.

Before he could do it, though, Red needed to get approval from his pokémon. He ran to the outskirts of Viridian before sending them out, since Snor, Char, Saur and Blast were kinda big. They seemed confused to be touching grass.

“We’re not going back to the mountain,” Red told them. “Not unless you want to. I was thinking of trying something new.”

They looked intrigued. Except Pika. Pika just kinda glared as usual.

“Know what a pop star is?” Red asked. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t listen to music. Red didn’t either. “It’s, someone who sings for a living. Green’s one. I think he needs to be beaten, don’t you?”

The old rivalry won, and they gave Red their approval. With so many top-class trainers as pop stars, they probably all had battles during their free time anyway.

Red’s next strategic move was finding Gold. He’d never actually tried to find Gold before, Gold kinda just turned up and demanded battles, so he wasn’t sure how to do it. The boy band thing definitely explained why Red hadn’t been challenged by Gold for ages. He hadn’t expected Gold to go from beating Legendary Hardcore Badass Awesome Champion and Ultimate Trainer Red to leading a pop band, but these things kinda happened. In the end, Red decided to ask Oak. It usually worked.

“Red, you’re finally back,” Oak cheerfully greeted. “Have you made any progress with your PokéDex?”

Red shrugged awkwardly and handed it over. “I was wondering if you know Gold’s number?”

“Oh, if you’re thinking of continuing your journey in Johto, Gold isn’t a Trainer any more,” Oak explained as he downloaded the data. Red felt a little bad about the wasted effort. “He’s gotten into music, actually, a lot of your old friends have. I don’t quite understand the appeal, but there you go.”

“I lost to him, so, uh, I wanna talk to him,” Red lied. He wasn’t sure why he was lying. Probably because in a minute Oak would realise Red hadn’t caught any pokémon since Lapras.

“Ah, I see,” Oak said, smiling knowingly. “Yes, yes, I remember Trainer rivalries well. I hear Agatha in the Elite Four still hasn’t forgiven me for beating her the last time.”

He was given Gold’s number and his PokéDex back with a disappointed (but in no way surprised) look. Red decided to capture as many new pokémon as possible before launching his own musical career. Catch and release wasn’t inhumane, right?

Gold answered the phone with a very casual, “Yo.”

“Hi, Gold.”

And then he started to scream. Red held the phone a foot from his ear. “OH, OH MY GOD, RED! RED! HI! HI RED! HOW’RE YOU?!”

“Wondering why and how everybody became pop stars,” Red called.

“IT’S JUST, A REAL AMAZING RUSH, Y’KNOW?! I’M SO HAPPY YOU CALLED! ARE YOU DOWN FROM THE MOUNTAIN D’YA WANNA HANG OUT OR SOMETHING MAYBE HAVE A BATTLE?”

“I wanna be a pop star too.”

Gold screamed again. “DUDE. DUDE. YOU GOTTA COME TO NIMBASA! JOIN MY RECORD COMPANY! THEY’LL TOTALLY TAKE YOU! I MEAN YOU’RE _RED_! BUT, BUT, BUT!”

“…but?”

“YOU GOTTA BEAT ME IN A BATTLE FIRST! BEFORE I’LL INTRODUCE YOU TO ELESA! AND COME TO MY CONCERT OH MY GOD RED COME TO MY CONCERT PLEASE I’LL SEND YOU TICKETS AND A BACKSTAGE PASS AND IT’LL BE SO GREAT!”

Honestly, music had never meant very much to Red and watching music performed by his sorta-friend and a few other people he sorta knew didn’t make it any different. He mostly just hated how loud the concert was. Did people really need to scream _that_ much? The crowd screamed, Gold screamed back when he wasn’t singing and dancing with his band mates, _and Wally kept trying to rap_. Red didn’t know much about music, but he knew that wasn’t what rap sounded like. Maybe he did it to prove he didn’t need his anti-asthma breathing suit any more. Red snuck back to Gold’s dressing room as soon as he could.

“RED, RED, DUDE, YOU CAME!” Gold squealed when he came barging in, like he hadn’t just spent two hours screaming.

“Uh, yeah, good music…?” Was that how you congratulated someone after a concert? “Nice music…? Nicely… done… music?”

Gold screamed some more. It was getting _really_ old.

“So, okay, I tried to keep my band-mates away BUT they all wanna meet you anyway!” Gold said.

“I already know Ruby and Wally…?” Or, Professor Oak had tricked him into calling them and giving them encouragement. That man would do anything for the sake of his PokéDexes.

“He remembers us, Ruby!” a wheezy voice outside gasped.

“Uh, yeah, who could forget me?” Ruby replied.

“C’mon in and see Red, guys!” Gold called.

Red would’ve preferred they didn’t, but he needed Gold’s contacts badly enough to not sic Pika on them all.

Wally came in first, still wearing a backwards baseball cap from the stage and the awkward smile from when he was eleven. Ruby had either been hiding black hair all along or had cut off the white stuff sticking out of his bandana and dyed it black, and looked so pleased with himself it would make Green second-hand embarrassed. One of the others was wearing bright blue shorts and carrying a rattata, and the other’s dark brown hair looked kinda greasy, like he was the one who’d spent seven years on a mountain.

“Okay _so_ , you say you remember Ruby and Wally, so that’s Joey and Calem.”

“X,” Calem corrected. “It’s X.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought that was just a stage name?”

“You freak out when people call you _Ethan_ or _Hibiki_ , so shut up and call me X!”

“Okay, okay, jeez.”

How did Gold not know that about his own bandmate anyway.

“Nice to meet you,” Red said to both of them, though he really didn’t care.

“Check out my rattata!” Joey cried. “I bet you don’t have a pokémon this cool in your party, huh?”

Red stared at Joey in disbelief. Did the kid not know who he was talking to?

“ACTUALLY, Joey, we’re gonna battle now,” Gold said loudly. He pulled out a PokéBall. “So c’mon, Red.”

“In here?” Red asked, looking around the cramped room.

“Why not!? I can’t wait any longer!” Gold cried. “Go, Tysplodey!”

One thoroughly destroyed line of dressing rooms later, Pika stood victoriously on Gold’s golem, roaring.

“Aww man, you got even better,” Gold said, shaking his head. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the giant hole his golem had created in the wall. “Still, it’s for the best! Now I’m gonna introduce you to Elesa, and you’ll become a pop star too, right?!”

“Yeah,” Red said. “Green’s been doomed to an eternity of _Wonderwall_.”

Gold cringed. “Team Rocket’s back? I thought Silv defeated them for good with the whole visual kei thing…”

Red decided not to answer.

“C’mon bro, we’d better work fast, Elesa’ll be on board and sign you in no time,” Gold said. He shook his head in disbelief as he grumly added, “I always knew Team Rocket was evil, but… but _Wonderwall_ …!”

Gold dragged Red to their private jet. Red had never been on a plane before and tried to explain he had a perfectly good charizard thanks very much, but Gold laughed and said something about it being too far.

The stupid airline staff made Red put Pika back in his ball. The assholes. The plane was loud and stuffy and the air was weird and they tried to take Red’s PokéBalls away from him because he wanted to let his pokémon out to share the horror with his best friends.

By the time they were allowed off the plane in Nimbasa (they made them wait for _way_ too long), Gold looked like he might be regretting helping Red. It was too late for him, though.

Elesa was a very yellow and black themed Unovan woman. She always wore headphones too, but they weren’t plugged into anything. Her office was on the highest floor of one of the tallest buildings in Nimbasa (Red wasn’t sure how close it was to actually tallest, looking up at all the tall buildings made his head spin), and took up almost the entire floor. She sat elegantly behind a black, highly reflective desk, watching Red like she was a ursaring and he was a magikarp.

“So,” she said, scanning Red. “This scruffy little kid is the hero of Kanto, hm?”

“Not just Kanto,” Gold said quickly. “I mean, did you _see_ his battle against Green Oak seven years ago?!”

“Of course I did,” Elesa replied. “Everybody did. You have amazing talent, for a scruffy kid.”

“I’m nineteen,” Red said. He’d kept track through birthday cakes Mum had sent him.

“Then you can sign the contract yourself,” Elesa said. “Excellent, excellent. You sure you want a career in music, scruffy?”

“He’s doing it to destroy Team Rocket,” Gold said. “Just like Silver.”

“I don’t care what his reason is, just if he makes us money,” Elesa replied. “Can you sing?”

Red shrugged.

“Oh, whatever, we’ll find something for you to do,” Elesa said, smiling dazzlingly. “I have a pop band debuting soon in need of a third member. You look about right, and I wouldn’t say no to your reputation and fame making that mediocre mess the hottest new band.”

Red heard her words and didn’t quite understand them. “Does Green work here?” he asked.

Elesa laughed. “Oh, _god_ no.” She stood up and swept over to Red’s side. “Come on, let’s do lunch while your contract’s written up.”

Someone who gave him food couldn’t be that bad, Red decided.

“Now, your band’s called _Natural Harmony_ ,” Elesa explained, like it mattered, as Red devoured the ‘all-Unovan’ burger she gave him. “You’re with two other boys, one’s the drummer, can’t sing worth a damn but he’s cute and has a nice bad-boy edge to anchor the complete airy-fairy feel of that precious diva. You’re kind of a happy medium, so it’d be good if you can sing.”

Red shrugged and kept eating.

“We’ll see what happens,” Elesa purred. “Ah, here’s Intern 43 with your contract, isn’t that great Red?! You should sign right away so we can get right to stopping Team Rocket from doing whatever it is you think they’re doing.”

Red knew he probably should’ve read it, but it was so boring. So he just quickly scrawled his name where Elesa’s beedrill yellow fingernail pointed.

“Wonderful,” Elesa said brightly. “Do you have a place to stay? Oh, of course not, you lived on a mountain like a hobo. I’ll set you up with a place, and I expect you here tomorrow morning at 9 in the morning to meet your new best friends and manager!”

The hotel was weird about Red letting his pokémon out too, but he didn’t care. They didn’t have an excuse like ‘your charizard’s flame will make everything explode no seriously don’t do it’, so they couldn’t stop him.

When Red turned up fifteen minutes early next morning, Elesa was waiting for him in the lobby. Standing next to her was some punk teenager with enormous blue hair, a red and white leather jacket and clownish navy pants. He scowled at Red while Elesa brightly said, “Oh, good, you’re here with time to spare! That’s what I like to see!”

“Isn’t there meant to be another one?” Red asked.

“Oh, his father said he had to stop at the salon on the way,” Elesa replied. “The appointment was two hours ago though… Anyway, this is Hugh.”

Hugh grunted.

Red felt like Hugh would be good company.

“Let’s head up to your studio, the little diva can meet you there,” Elesa said brightly. “Now, Red, do you have any previous experience with music? Play any instruments before you left school? Or on that mountain?”

Red thought about it. “I’ve sung happy birthday before a few times. That’s about it.”

Elesa laughed like he was joking.

“What do you do?” Red asked Hugh.

“Drums,” Hugh grunted.

Red appreciated Hugh’s lack of bullshit. It was refreshing after years of Green as a best friend/love interest.

At quarter past nine, their final member finally joined them. His hair was long, green, sleek and billowing out behind him like a cape as he walked over, pink manicured nails digging into a cup of Starbucks. And he was wearing a deep purple crop-top and matching purple shorts over pink fishnets.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling the purple-tinted sunglasses from his pale face. “Daddy _insisted_ the salon do a longer soak, so of course I was late to get my special order, which meant I had to be late here, of course. Basic addition.”

His voice immediately pissed Red off. It was like every annoying, bratty school girl from Unovan movies combined with a stereotypical gay lisp.

“You cost me fifteen minutes of my time,” Elesa said. “If I make fifty thousand dollars an hour, how much of my time did you cost me?”

The so-called diva opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a nervous laugh. The man who walked in could only be the father; their hair was almost the same shade of green, the same brand of stupidly long, and the dad was wearing purple too. Only he was wearing a purple suit rather than a purple crop-top with matching shorts, thankfully.

“It is my fault, Elesa,” the man said. “It’s so hard to avoid spoiling my little prince, I do _so_ love him.”

His smile was psychotic. It reminded Red of a Rocket Admin he’d made cry once.

“It’s no matter, Ghetsis,” Elesa said. “Though I do have to wonder why you must constantly chaperone your twenty-one year old son. He does have a manager, who is even later than him, if you can _believe_ the way these people waste my time…”

Ghetsis laughed nervously again before turning to Red. “So, you’re the legendary Pokémon Master Red…?”

Red nodded.

“Ghetsis Harmonia,” he introduced himself. “And this is my son, N. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

“Yes,” N said, lip curling with the effort of his lie. “Absolutely. How are your pokémon? Did you leave them on the mountain?”

“N,” Ghetsis spat.

“I left them in the hotel room,” Red replied. “Someone’s gotta eat everything in the mini-bar.”

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” Elesa said icily. “Now, where’s that Kalosian bastard?”

The door burst open. A man wearing a crisp purple shirt that wasn’t at all repulsive to look at like Ghetsis’ walked in, flicking back his curly black hair as he said, “I am so sorry, Elesa,” in an exaggerated Kalosian accent. “I was, how do you say, held up?”

“Cut that out,” Elesa hissed. “I don’t have time for all the egos in this room. You, N, and you, Sycamore, I’m deducting the time you’ve cost me from your pay cheques.”

Sycamore wibbled.

“So, here he is, the legendary Red,” Elesa declared. “And he’s gonna sing for us.”

“I am?” Red asked, surprised.

“He is?” N asked, infuriated.

“Sure, try it out now, Red,” Elesa commanded, trying to pass it off as nice.

Red tried to focus on how pissed off and shown Green was gonna be when Red was a best-selling popstar as he mentally braced himself. Singing wasn’t embarrassing or anything, it was just something everybody would laugh at him for sucking at, if he did. He didn’t even know how good he was. He just knew Green was a fucking asshole who _needed_ to be reminded why Red was his rival and worthy of his attention and noticing that he’d been away for _seven fucking years_.

Red drew in a deep breath and sarcastically sang _Wonderwall_.

“Oh, wonderful,” Elesa said. “You’ll have to work on delivery, but — Sycie, what do you think?”

“Magnificent,” Sycamore said, dropping the accent. “A natural talent on a level comparable to that of Silver, and my own dear _Chick Click_ girls.”

Red should’ve known he’d be a natural; he _was_ good at everything.

“You can’t possibly be thinking what I suspect you’re thinking,” N said, suddenly speaking extremely quickly. “You can’t make _him_ lead singer, not after everything I’ve had to sacrifice and learn to fulfil this —”

“N, my darling son, stop,” Ghetsis said.

N growled loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

“Now now my green-haired adonis, there is no need to sulk,” Sycamore cooed. “I think it would be truly majestic for you both to _share_ the singing role.”

“Sharing was _not_ in my contract,” N snapped.

“I don’t care who does what,” Red said. “I don’t care if he sings every other song, I only need to sing the first one.”

“He has ulterior motives!” N cried. “He’s not in it for the music, isn’t that totally selling out to you people?! Not to mention his reign of terror as —”

“N, I think you need to calm down,” Ghetsis said through gritted teeth.

N drew in a deep breath and started drumming his fingers on the table, ignoring that it was clearly totes ruining his nails ohemgee.

“…so, I think that’s settled,” Elesa said brightly. “I’ll leave you all to get better acquainted and I may or may not be expecting to see some music by the end of the day. It’s your guess, but I do not want to be disappointed.” She walked to the door. “Bye-bye now!”

“Son, if I may have a word,” Ghetsis called, walking to the sound-proof recording booth like anybody actually cared what he told his spoilt shit son.

N let out a low growl, stood up and followed his daddy. Then the obvious shouting started.

“Ah, those two,” Sycamore chuckled, watching them fight like it was appealing.

Hugh turned to Red, leant closer and growled, “Team Plasma thinks they’re being subtle.” Then he turned away again, back to glaring broodily.

Red didn’t know what Team Plasma was, but if they were anything like Team Rocket as their name suggested, it wouldn’t be good. Maybe Ghetsis was illegally selling pokémon to pay for N’s hair and nail care?

Whatever Daddy Ghetsis shouted at N worked. He came out of the booth sulking, but had swapped fast-talking for a very sarcastic sounding, “So let’s like totally get musicing.” Then he muttered, “Like that’s a verb.”

Red could see what Hugh meant about subtly.

Though N threw a lot of tantrums about the ‘necessity’ of his being ‘the most central figure of the band’, Sycamore kept telling him it just would not happen because Red was too famous. Red knew the latter Dex Holders would make up colour and gem-stone based codenames for themselves to be like him (and probably Green and Blue too), but he didn’t realise people still cared about him so much after he’d abandoned public life and lived on a mountain for seven years. N didn’t like it, but he had to accept it. Especially because Red needed his revenge. Hugh, as it turned out, despised N. He only ever glared at N, only spoke a couple of words at a time in a growl, and a few times Red thought he’d said something about a purrloin.

Whatever was wrong with his bandmates, Red would just have to live with. It would be all worth it for making Green pay.

Perhaps because they hated each other so much, they got a lot of music written very quickly. On the first day, Elesa came back to three vaguely sketched out melodies written by N and Hugh (not together), and a few lyrics Red had written which were promptly rejected for too much ‘fucking annoying bastard stop smelling me’ rants.

“You’re doing pop, remember,” Elesa said, scowling. “Make it cutesy! Be cute, Red, everybody remembers you as a cute little eleven-year-old.”

Red had never been cute.

After Sycamore helped by showing Red some songs by the other band he managed (a girl band with lots of pink frilly dresses) and introducing him to their formula (“If you like, I could introduce you to them, Serena and Lyra in particular have been long admirers of yours,” Sycamore offered, but Red was kind of scared of girls after growing up around Blue) Red found it a lot easier. It was just writing nonsensical stuff like he actually _wanted_ to date Green any more, the asshole, and like he actually wanted to kiss Green and stuff.

It took much longer to persuade Hugh to stop hitting the drums so hard like it was heavy metal, but they got that done too.

N slowed things down by insisting that he and Red both record versions of each song they wrote.

“Because it is important to realise the difference between _talent_ and _spectacle_ and there must be the option for us to alternate especially if I am to draw the amount of public attention I require,” N said quickly, not preppily.

Ghetsis coughed.

“I mean, because it’s totes fun,” N preppily corrected himself.

Red really wanted to mess with N’s head, but it was kind of hard with Ghetsis constantly hanging around. He’d gotten Pika’s help electrocuting N a couple of times, and ‘accidentally’ let Snor sleep in front of the recording booth door so N was trapped in there for five gloriously silent hours, but N never actually shouted about that. He kept calling Red’s pokémon ‘friend’, and it was clearly creeping them out, so Red had no choice but to keep his best friends far away from the creepy little diva and start flicking stuff into N’s hair. Sycamore never told him off because he was easily distracted by Red’s PokéDex, Elesa never told him off because she wanted to cater to him so he wouldn’t run off a mountain for another seven years, and Hugh always handed Red more things to flick.

The worst part of it all was that Red was in a country he’d never been to before, surrounded by pokémon he’d only heard rumours of, and Trainers he’d love to battle (and maybe make cry), but Elesa wouldn’t let him outside.

“We need to keep your debut a total surprise and totally under wraps until the crucial moment,” she said. “This all takes very precise timing. You wouldn’t want to ruin it, would you?”

Red didn’t, so he tolerated the months of being smuggled between hotels and the recording studio. He wasn’t even allowed to wander freely around the building. One time he asked Hugh if he had any pokémon, and Hugh snapped a drumstick. When he asked N, N started screaming at him about how pokémon were creatures, not tools to be owned, or pets, and they deserved better than the prison of a PokéBall, and how he would never participate in their oppression, and he started crying too. He didn’t stop until Ghetsis dragged him away.

Finally, after four months of song writing, recording, learning to pole-dance and having way too many photos taken in way too many clothes trying way too hard to be his old trainer clothes, the big day of the debut concert came. Red would be singing a truly awful song called ‘ _Toxic_ ’, which N had actually written. Amazingly, N didn’t throw a tantrum all day, or at the idea of Red singing it. He just sulked a bit.

Red made sure to send Green a ticket, sealed in a rose-scented pink envelope with glittery heart and kiss stickers all over it. He wrote Green’s name on it in red ink, hoping Green had noticed him enough to remember his handwriting.

When he went out on stage and saw Green glaring up at him, Red knew Green had at least noticed that much.

He made sure to direct his bedroom-eyes right at Green throughout the song. Green survived up to the instrumental break with Red draping himself first across N’s shoulders then Hugh’s lap, but quickly stormed off when Red started singing again.

Twenty minutes later, Red found Green glowering backstage, fists clenched and glaring at everything. The glare intensified when Red called his name.

“Like my singing, Greenie?” he asked.

“What the HELL d’ya think you’re doing?!” Green snarled.

Smirking, Red leant closer, cupping Green’s cheek. Slowly, revelling in the blush rising with every centimetre closer to Green’s lips his own got, Red closed the gap, until his lips were almost brushing Green’s… Then he whispered, “Don’t’cha know that you’re toxic?”

Green shoved Red away, swearing viciously and meaninglessly. “This, this isn’t over! You little shit! I’ll… I’ll…”

“Smell me later?” Red guessed.

“FUCK YOU!” Green shouted before storming off.

Totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Wonderwall' is of course the property of Oasis and Creation Records. 'Toxic' is the property of Britney Spears and Jive Records.


	4. Bring Me To Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue's plans to destroy Red take off with a very special song with a very special guest.

**Track Three:**

**Bring Me To Life**

Normally, they had the day off after a concert to unwind. Black usually took the entire day because all the eyeliner made his eyes feel really, really heavy. But after that debut, after seeing Red like that, Black couldn’t sleep in. He’d seen his idol _pole-dancing_ , how could he go on like nothing had changed? He was _pissed off_. He’d always looked up to Red, and now he was acting like some Pop bimbo? What the fucking hell?

When he reached the studio, Black found Blue already sitting at the piano, hitting random keys and ranting at a phone.

“— when did he even leave the mountain?!” she groaned. “And since when’s he been interested in literally _anything_ but battling?!”

“Didn’t he really like mermaids for two weeks in first grade?” a bored voice replied from the phone.

“Oh, that is _so_ not the point!”

“And didn’t he spend every winter trying to become king of the ice and set off an eternal winter?”

“I SAID THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

“Well, I have work to do, and nobody’s stealing my limelight, so…”

“You are the worst fake little brother ever,” Blue huffed.

“Uh-huh, and you’re welcome for the songs, loser.”

Blue glanced up at the dial tone. Rather than get pissed off that Black’d been eavesdropping, she bitterly said, “I don’t think Silver’s gonna be much help. Selfish bitch.”

“Uh, well —”

Blue started dialling another number. “I’ve got more than just Silver up my sleeve, Blackie-darling. And we _will_ destroy Red with this one.”

Black was actually way more interested in the reveal that Silver’d gone to school with Red, Green and Blue but couldn’t bring himself to speak when he heard the ringing start.

“Yo, Blue, where the hell’re you?”

Black’s heart stopped. It was Green Oak. _The_ Green Oak. And it was totally unfair that he was a celebrity himself and still got star-struck.

“Bolt Records, where I work,” Blue replied. “Did you hear about —”

“I’m nearby, I’m comin’ over.”

Then Green hung up.

“Well, that’s gonna be fun,” Blue said cheerfully. “Is Cherry-dear coming in today?”

“Uh… uhm…” Black had to give his brain a few seconds to process the question. It was still struggling with ‘you’re gonna meet Green Oak soon, probably in like, an hour tops’. “Uh. No. Nah. He’ll, be on a date. Or. Something.”

“Oh, you two aren’t…?”

Black shook his head.

“Huh,” Blue said, like she cared. “Well, don’t do anything to feed Green’s ego. That’s the worst thing anybody can do ever.”

“But he was the youngest Champion in world history, and didn’t he get into Saffron University at thirteen? And write a PhD like the next year?”

“It was three years later actually,” Blue dismissed. “And don’t forget, Red beat him like five minutes after he became Champion. He’s such a pig-headed loser for no reason, but he’s cute. And the key to Red’s undoing.”

“Are you and Silver actually related?” Black asked, because it was pretty clear Blue would’ve made a better Rocket Heir.

“No, but we might as well be,” Blue replied. “What’s that got to do with destroying Red?”

“Uh, well, Sun Tzu says know thy enemy, so, I’m trying to figure out Red’s relationship to all you guys so I’ll have a better chance of helping destroy him,” Black quickly said. “All I’ve seen of him was from his battles on TV, and the media circus around Team Rocket. I don’t even know where he’s been the last seven years, not really.”

Blue smiled widely. “Of course. Know thy enemy. Clever. Well, if you’re useful enough, I might tell you the full story some day.”

She played the piano quite evilly until Green Oak kicked the door open.

“Yo,” he said casually, storming over to the piano. Black didn’t know why he’d kicked the door open if he was gonna pretend to be calm. Did he think it made him cool? Didn’t he realise he was already cool purely because he was _Green Oak_?

“Hi,” Blue said, voice bubbly and friendly. Too bubbly and friendly. “See what Red’s up to?”

“Of course I fuckin’ did, he sent me a ticket,” Green muttered bitterly. “When’d he even learn to sing? Or pole-dance?”

“I don’t know, but it must’ve taken something pretty big for him to ditch that damn mountain for Nimbasa,” Blue replied. “When was the last time you saw him before all this?”

“It’s not my fault!” Green cried.

Blue stopped playing. “What did you do?”

Green growled, “Why do you _always_ assume it’s my fault?!”

“I’m not assuming anything, but you were very quick to defend yourself for someone who didn’t do anything,” Blue replied.

“Fine, he visited me after he got off the mountain, then he started freaking the fuck out and said, get this, he hopes I’ll spend all eternity playing _Wonderwall_!”

Black winced. Blue, however, remained perfectly composed as she asked, “And what’d you say to him?”

“That that was really harsh —”

“Before that. Before he said the _Wonderwall_ thing.”

“Something about not realising he’d been on that damn mountain for so long.”

“Ohh.”

Green slammed his hand on the piano top and defensively ranted, “Well, I didn’t! I was _really_ busy the entire eight-six months! It’s not my fault time flies when you’re actually being a contributing member of society getting on with your life instead of living on some damn mountain as a fucking hobo!”

“Calm down, dear, you’re as right as you’re handsome,” Blue said. “I just got an idea for how you can get back at him, and help me do the same.”

“You have?”

Blue nodded, smirk growing. “You’re going to feature in our next single. And then every time we perform it on our debut tour, you’ll just _have_ to join us.”

“Blue, we already recorded it,” Black interrupted. “And Cheren already —”

“How’d you get saddled with the nerd?” Green sneered.

“He came with the contract,” Blue replied. “I got two cute nerds, actually. Elesa sure knows how to make an offer a girl can’t refuse.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Black grumbled.

“Only if you shut up and stop ruining our plan, sweetie. It’s really very important that we put Red in his place, isn’t it, Greenie?”

“Absolutely essential,” Green agreed. “He’s a fuckwit.”

Black rolled his eyes, scowling.

“Hey, wait, aren’t you that dude from the band with the hot emo chick?” Green suddenly realised.

Black fought the urge to groan.

“Yes, he is, and I’m the new hot emo chick to replace the old one,” Blue said. “She quit to do better things, like make out with other girls to sell pop records.”

“I’m outta here, do whatever you’re gonna do, I don’t care,” Black said, heading to the door.

“That’s the emo spirit!” Green shouted after him. “Keep it crawling in your skin, nerd!”

Black was beginning to see why nobody cared about Green’s so-called achievements. His PhD had probably been in the art of douchebaggery. He walked down the hall towards the elevator quickly, ignoring Blue and Green’s loud laughter. Cheren probably wouldn’t care if Green replaced his part, he’d never liked singing anyway, but Elesa was gonna be pissed. Plus Black kinda hated it on principle. As empty and shallow as he found the industry, the fans didn’t, and he wanted to keep the illusion going for them. He wanted to be good to his fans, how Red hadn’t been good to him. But he didn’t want to destroy Red how Blue was going about it, by conning his ex-best friend. That was just low. Black wanted to destroy Red by outselling him at every turn, just by the pure force of emo.

Grumbling, he pressed the ‘down’ button on the elevator. He might as well try to enjoy the rest of his day off. He didn’t want to go home, though — if White was there, she’d definitely start shouting about Blue, and he didn’t want to talk about Blue.

The door opened, and Black found himself staring at N. God, those eyes were so pretty, and Black had no idea why N’s idea of Pop fashion came from the 80s, but it looked _good_.

Then he noticed a tall dude in a suit with the same colour hair and skin as N who could only be his dad. Glaring at him drooling over his Pop baby.

“Uh, hi,” he said awkwardly, quickly stepping in.

“Hello,” N replied.

His dad coughed.

N sighed, dropped a hand to his hip and muttered in a higher pitched drawl, “Like, yeah, whatever.”

Black quickly pressed the button for the ground floor before giving in to the tense silence. With all the bad luck Green Oak had brought, he deserved _some_ lucky break, and if he got it, N’s creepy dad would get out of the elevator before N did…

His luck finally paid off. The elevator stopped at the PR floor, and N’s creepy dad got off with a mutter of “Keep it up.”

The doors closed behind him, and N stood up straight.

“He’s, something,” Black muttered.

“A tool who tries too hard to be in control,” N replied. “His usefulness will pass soon enough.”

It was kinda cool that N was turning the ‘parents controlling their showbiz child’ stereotype around, or whatever.

“So, you’re working with Red, huh?”

“Yes.” N stared at him strangely. “Why are you asking if you already know it to be true?”

“Politeness…?”

“Oh, that.”

Black waited for a few moments before saying, “I thought you’d be in our band.”

“I am starting to suspect that would have been a better alternative. Although Pop has a greater mainstream appeal, I’ve started to suspect the cult success of your genre makes its listeners far easier to influence,” N muttered, very quickly. Perhaps Black had misheard the part that sounded creepily like a supervillain. He sure hoped so; N was the first cute boy in the industry he’d met for a long time.

“Um, well, okay, so… I mean, we’re practically Pop too, so…”

“I suppose.”

“What’s, working with Red like?” Black asked. “That bad?”

“He is a terrible creature, of course working with him is bad.”

“Oh, um, really?” Black was disappointed; with Blue and Green being so horrible, he’d hoped at least Red would be sorta nice. “What’s he like?”

N opened his mouth, closed it again, and started thinking dramatically. It was _very_ dramatic, what with how he leant his hips to one side so much it was a wonder he could stand, and cupped his face (a bit like a supervillain. Shit.). “I’m considering how to put it in terms that will make you, as a human clueless to the true evils of our species, will understand,” N explained.

“Um… thanks…?”

N pulled his hand away and stood up straight again. “He is like Hitler.”

Black’s jaw dropped. “What…”

N suddenly looked irritated. “Don’t tell me that you do not understand after I went to all the effort thinking about it in terms that you would be able to comprehend.”

“I don’t understand why you think it’s okay to call someone ‘ _like Hitler_ ’ just because you don’t like them!” Black replied. “That’s fucked _up_ , that’s so insensitive to _everybody_ whose lives Hitler ruined!”

“And how insensitive to every pokémon hurt by Red is it to idolise him?” N hissed. “Think about _that_.”

He hit the button for the next floor. When the doors opened, he walked off with a toss of his ponytail, and not even a backwards glance.

Black bit the inside of his lip. He’d really thought N was pretty and cute and all that, but talking to him now, he seemed mostly just… creepy. And he’d made the mistake of talking to N in the first place. He only hoped N would be so irritated he’d leave Black alone.

But at the same time, what else did Black have going for him other than the possibility of dating someone as pretty as N…?

*

Elesa caved to Blue’s will surprisingly easily; all it took was the name ‘Green Oak’ and she _insisted_ they replay Cheren’s bit with Green. Black was a little pissed off, but Cheren was actually a little excited about it.

“I always thought Green would turn to the emo way of life after that way his grandfather reprimanded him right in front of the cameras because he lost,” he explained quietly while Green was recording.

“Yeah, I’m sure he needs waking up inside,” Black snorted.

The worst thing was finding out they were booked on the show _So Fresh_ (hosted by world-saving former Dex holder hero Platinum and sometimes Pearl and Diamond too) their first interview as a band, and Green was gonna crash it to sing the emo equivalent of ‘oops sorry babe didn’t notice you there and that makes me just as sad as you are’, which was totally gonna upstage _everything_. Black hoped their old fans wouldn’t be alienated by what they probably thought was blatant conformist capitalist bullshit.

Still, Platinum was nice. Black was extremely prone to squeeing over Dex Holders, but she’d never made him nervous like that. She was relaxing to be around, which made it difficult not to answer all her questions honestly, but was a refreshing change nonetheless. Black didn’t often feel much other than vaguely nervous dread.

“So, Green, you stay backstage until we hit the song, got it?” Blue instructed in their dressing room. She’d long vinyl’d up in a tight, short black dress and pulled on red-and-black armsocks to go with her clipped in red hair streaks.

“I’m not fuckin’ wearing any of this emo bullshit,” Green spat.

“Yeah, that’s fine, just let Red win _again_ …”

Green quickly sold out with a pair of black bondage pants and a t-shirt so horribly over the top it even made Cheren cringe a bit. It was black (of course), with white ribs (cracked, of course) encircling a broken love heart.

“You’re the emo boy of my dreams,” Blue sighed. “Red’s totally gonna cry.”

Black rolled his eyes and reminded himself that if they _did_ kill their fan base, he’d at least get to go on a pokémon journey. Or even get a pokémon.

Platinum talked to them before the show started, reminding them it was live, watch your language in this time slot, avoid overly political messages if possible, and then said, “Black, Cheren, I’m so sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask you guys about White and Bianca.”

“And they will of course tell you how much better we are artistically now with me replacing them,” Blue butted in.

Platinum laughed politely. “Yeah, don’t do that, it’s petty.”

Black was amazed someone was actually standing up to Blue. So, apparently, was Blue.

“Anyway, best of luck, and I know your performance tonight is going to be as amazing as any you ever did as _Monochrome_ ,” Platinum told them. “I’ll see you in a few.”

After Platinum walked away, Blue muttered, “What a damn snob.”

“You’re always petty, get over it,” Green retorted.

“You’re meant to wish us _luck_ dealing with the snob, not be an asshole too!”

The interview was pretty typical; Platinum introduced them, called them out, they bantered friendlily for a while by talking about what they were wearing (Platinum called Blue’s hair a ‘daring new look’), then she went on to ask, “How did you guys meet Blue, and end up working together?”

“Through Silver,” Blue replied. Black hadn’t ever actually met Silver. “He introduced us a while ago, I was always a _Monochrome_ fan you know, and then when they broke up I saw my opportunity and took it.”

“You were a fan? Then it’s like a fairytale for you,” Platinum said. “And, Black, Cheren, was replacing your childhood friends difficult? And Black, your twin sister!”

“It wasn’t really replacing,” Cheren replied. “It’s a different musical project, and Blue brings a very different sound to _[bruised]_ than anything we had in _Monochrome_ , so no, it wasn’t difficult.”

Black just nodded along.

“But, Black, has the split created any tension in your family?” Platinum asked.

Black shook his head. “No, not really, it’s just weird that White and I don’t see each other every day like we used to. Not necessarily a bad weird.”

“Not necessarily a bad weird,” Platinum repeated with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all very excited by your debut single, _Going Under_. I understand it debuted at number five on Billboard, which is an incredible feat for anybody.”

“Thank you,” Blue said pleasantly. “I’m just so happy people like our music. It’s a little scary, working with performers as seasoned as Black and Cheren, but I’m so happy we’ve been embraced.”

“Yes, indeed you have been,” Platinum said. “You’re going to perform for us, isn’t that right? A new single that you’ll be releasing next Saturday?”

“Absolutely,” Blue said. “We’re very excited by it! And our guest performer — my _best friend_ , Green Oak.”

The studio audience went nuts.

“Very exciting stuff,” Platinum said loudly, over them. “We’ll be back with that performance right after the break!”

They got the all clear and headed for the stage. It was set up with a piano near the front for Blue, a nearby microphone on a stand for Green, and then Black’s usual drum kit towards the back where he could try to ignore this train wreck in the making. Blue ran to get Green, and dragged him out muttering about showing Red while Green dealt with the sudden realisation of how ridiculous he looked.

“Just think about how pissed Red’s gonna be,” Blue said as she dragged him on stage. “And how _angry_ your grandpa’ll be, if you stand me up after I’ve already announced you’re performing with us.”

“I’m starting to think Gramps’ll be super _embarrassed_ that this is what I quit studying pokémon to do!”

Black had a feeling Green was onto something there, as he was pretty embarrassed by Green’s choice too.

“Just, put your heart into it, jeez!” Blue cried. “You’re doing the right thing! When have I ever been wrong?!”

“That time when —”

“I mean when it really _mattered_.”

Apparently never, because Green took his place at the microphone next to Blue’s piano.

Blue sat down with a triumphant smirk, adjusted her microphone a bit, and cracked her knuckles.

“Okay guys, get ready,” Platinum called to them, before turning to the camera. “Here to perform a new song for us is _[bruised]_ with guest performer Green Oak! And here’s _Bring Me to Life_!”

Blue started to play first. After the soft intro, she started to sing just as softly, “ _How can you see into my eyes, like open doors…?_ ”

And Black could only think ‘ _Great. Fantastic. Wonderful_.’ on a very sarcastic loop through the entire performance, then again when the crowd actually cheered. He was becoming increasingly cynical with both age and Blue’s company.

“That was _awesome_!” Green said as they headed back to the dressing room. “They liked it! They actually liked _me_!”

That was a little heartbreaking. At least until Green started ranting about how he was gonna rub Red’s face in it.

Black didn’t feel like getting roped into any after-performance parties or actually having to talk to Blue and Green for any longer, so he ducked into the nearest storage cupboard and hid among the cleaning supplies for about twenty minutes. He heard Blue storming up and down the hall a few times, but five minutes after the last, he decided enough was enough and snuck out again. The coast was clear. All the same, he decided to forgo the dressing room entirely and just sneak off to Bianca’s, where White would hopefully be. He really wanted to complain about how much he hated Blue and Green, and how much that disappointed him. He’d thought he wanted to get revenge on Red too, for betraying his expectations, but what right did he have to decide that? Red, the Trainer, was his idol, but that didn’t mean he owed Black anything. Maybe Red legitimately did like music. Maybe he’d spent years on that mountain to perfect his Pop styling.

Black started walking quietly to the back entrance.

“Hey.”

Black froze. He knew that voice. He turned around slowly, half-hoping it wasn’t and half-hoping it was, to see that it in fact completely and definitely was Red. He was shorter than Black’d expected, only a couple of inches taller than him, but it was still Red and he was still fixing Black with that intense gaze and holding a bit of paper out to him fucking _incredible wow_.

“Give this to Green,” Red instructed, shoving the bit of paper into Black’s hand.

Then he walked off. But it was Red walking off so Black didn’t exactly get miffed by how rude he was so much as just stare in star-struck glee at having been _acknowledged_. And maybe the note was going to put an end to this whole thing and they’d all become friends and he’d find out why Red had left training pokémon to become a pop star of all horrible things and they’d be friends.

Black glanced down at the note. Red’s handwriting was very simple and neat.

 _Green,_ it read,

_You should’ve stuck to Wonderwall, you fucking nerdlord._

_Love always,_

_Red_

Growling in frustration, Black scrunched the note up and threw it away. Unbelievable. Did Pallet Town just breed assholes or something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bring Me To Life' is the property of Evanescence and Wind-up Entertainment, Inc. The name of Platinum's music show is taken from a series of compilation albums released by Sony Music Australia, which I like every other tweenie Australian in 2004 bought every month.


	5. A Trophy Father's Trophy Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red, N and Hugh go through their first interview. It doesn't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features underage drinking, based on the assumption that the legal drinking age in the Pokemon world is 20 (as in Japan).

The day after Green and Blue’s interview, Red came into the studio to find N sulking even more aggressively than usual and Hugh glowering at his phone. It was clearly going to be a fun day. He didn’t say anything, just sat down at the table closer to Hugh than N, and tried not to think about how royally fucked he was.

There was no way Blue would’ve gotten Green involved in her little emo band if she didn’t know why Red was doing all this. She’d always been desperate for attention, and always pissed off that both Red and Green had a limitless supply of affection just waiting for them from family members. Red had to admit, as much as his abandoning dad and Green’s dead parents sucked, she was probably right to be jealous. One time it took Blue’s parents two _months_ to notice she’d run away to live with Silver in Viridian. As busy as Professor Oak was, he always had time to notice if Red and Green were sneaking off towards the tall grass unsupervised again, and to take them to school in Viridian every weekday morning.

But sympathy was weakness, and this was war. Blue would have to pay dearly for stealing Green and humiliating him like that. Then again, was it humiliation if Green was too caught up in it to realise it was humiliation? Had Red done something worse by pointing it out in the note he gave Blue’s emo little pawn?

Red didn’t want to think about it any more, so he asked Hugh, “What’re you pissed about?”

Hugh looked at him, then his eyes flickered to N (glaring intensely, of course) before he muttered, “That’s classified.”

“Cool.”

Red lifted Pika off his hat and set him down on the table. “You look bored,” he said.

Pika grumbled.

“Yeah. Same.” Keeping part of his focus on the appalled look on N’s face, Red pulled his PokéBalls one by one from his belt and set them on the table. “Maybe I should juggle you guys…?”

“You’re _disgusting_ ,” N shouted. “It’s not bad enough to imprison them within those devices, you need to taunt and torture them while they’re in there?!”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Red replied. He picked up Char’s Ball. “Wanna battle, Pika?”

Pika cried in longing.

“Don’t make them battle their friends!” N cried, so high-pitched and fast Red could barely comprehend it. “You _monster_!”

“Red, you messing with him like this is getting old,” Hugh said, grumpily. Did he have any other mode? “It was funny the first time, it was still kinda funny the fifth time, but it’s old now. Quit it.”

Red sighed and sent Char out anyway. Char stretched out his wings, roaring loudly, and stomping his feet.

“He wants —” N started to complain.

Red walked over to one of the windows and opened it. It wasn’t really big enough to fit a charizard through, but Char stuck his head out anyway. Red gently stroked his back.

“We’ll go flying tonight,” he promised. “Or maybe we should ditch right now and go…”

“Don’t you dare leave me alone with him,” Hugh growled.

“Smash the window, Char,” Red whispered. “Go oooon, who’s it gonna hurt?”

Char snorted at him in exasperation before pulling his head back inside.

“You don’t speak their language, you don’t know what’s in their hearts,” N said, stunned, “so how did you know what he wanted?”

Red had gotten used to hearing a lot of stupid crap from N’s mouth, but that was the weirdest. He looked at N in pure exasperation, with absolutely no clue how to reply.

“How did you _know_?” N demanded.

“I understand all my pokémon,” Red said. “We’re friends. Friends understand each other.”

N looked like he’d been hit by the most intense Confuse Ray a Rocket Grunt could draw from a zubat. He looked between Red, Char and Pika for several long moments before finally muttering, to himself, “Then why doesn’t Black understand me?”

Red pretended he hadn’t heard. He didn’t know who that was, probably a pokémon. Maybe N would actually have friends, human or otherwise, if he was less of a freak.

Luckily, that was when Sycamore decided to show up. He smiled apologetically at them.

“My dear boys, I’m afraid the time has come for your first interview,” he announced. “I wish it could be with someone perhaps, more gentle, but alas, Roxy will have to do. You are tough, brave boys and you will make us all proud.”

That sounded pretty grim.

“Now, come along, my darlings, we must be at the studio soon.”

“Ghetsis will want to come,” N said. “I mean. Daddy. Whatever.”

“Ah, yes, I think loosening the apron strings will be for the best, no?” Sycamore chuckled. “Let’s leave quickly before he notices.”

“Fine by me,” N muttered.

He really wasn’t very good at this undercover stuff. Hadn’t he ever seen a spy movie?

Red recalled Char and quickly scooped up both his PokéBalls and Pika before following Sycamore. N, of course, returned to glaring at Red as he replaced PokéBalls on his belt.

“Roxy is a very intense interviewer,” Sycamore warned them on the drive to the TV station. “She will have dug up questions you won’t want asked, and she won’t hesitate to ask them until she gets the answer she desires.”

“I have nothing to hide so that absolutely does not make me nervous,” N said nervously. “I mean. Whatever, man. Dude?”

“Try ‘bro’,” Red suggested. “Works for Gold.”

N groaned. “You would know that monster.”

“Pick a personality and stick with it,” Red replied. “Or at least get some friends.”

“I have lots of friends,” N spat.

“Sure you do.”

“You two are meant to be friends,” Sycamore said. “In fact, all three of you are meant to be friends — or at least capable of treating each other decently after all these months of working together.”

“He totally started it,” N whined.

Red rolled his eyes. He hadn’t left the mountain for this kind of bullshit.

The interview wasn’t the kind of bullshit he’d left the mountain for, either. Roxy eyed him hungrily the moment they met backstage, and completely ignored the other two.

“What an honour to meet you, the legendary Red,” she said. “I’m looking forward to interviewing you. You didn’t give many, even after you defeated Giovanni, did you?”

Red shook his head.

“Well, see you out there,” she said, before walking away.

“How rude,” N bristled. “Is there any purpose in us being here if she only cares about _him_?”

“Unity, my green-haired adonis,” Sycamore replied wearily. “Unity.”

N rolled his eyes.

Sycamore took Pika and Red’s other pokémon from him before they were allowed on. Red didn’t think that was a good sign.

Roxy introduced them as an “exciting and fresh new band” before calling them out. Red gladly let N take the seat closest to Roxy, and tried to sit at the end of the couch, except Hugh beat him to it.

“So that’s N, and Hugh,” Roxy said, gesturing to each in turn, “and of course, the legendary Pokémon Trainer and Kanto’s favourite hero, Red, all grown up.”

The studio audience cheered. Red was pretty sure they were paid to do that.

“Congratulations on such a strong debut,” Roxy said. “Your single, _Toxic_ , is second only to _[bruised]_ ’s _Going Under_ , isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s great to be selling so well, compared to a band with much more experienced members than any of us,” N replied smoothly.

Roxy nodded. “And, I suppose the big question on everybody’s minds is, Red — where have you been all these years?”

“Different places,” Red replied. He didn’t want anybody else claiming Mt Silver while he was away.

“Oh? Such as?”

“Mt Pyre.”

“Oh, really? And what were you doing on Mt Pyre?”

“Different things.”

“Such as…?”

Red fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was definitely done with her shit, and ready to dish out some of his own. “I was discovering God.”

Roxy blinked. “Oh, really?”

Nodding, Red leant forward and asked, “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour, Roxy?”

“I wasn’t aware Jesus Christ had anything to do with Mt Pyre,” Roxy replied. “Or, indeed, Hoenn in general.”

“Jesus is everywhere.”

She tried to stare him down, but Red had perfected his poker face after a decade of tickle fights with Green.

“I see, how lovely,” Roxy said pleasantly. “Though, if I may ask — is this discovery of faith in any way associated with Giovanni?”

“Of course not, Giovanni’s a heathen.”

Roxy nodded. “Then, perhaps, your father?”

Red froze.

“He did leave you, didn’t he?” Roxy asked, emphatically. “When you were ei—?”

“There are allegations that my father is a literal criminal,” N interrupted. “Recent ones. Isn’t that far more significant?”

Red stared at N in amazement.

“I mean, like, totally,” N added, pathetically.

“Yes, I was getting to that,” Roxy said. “Your father is Ghetsis Harmonia?”

“Yeah, that’s my dad,” N replied. “People’ve been saying his, like, organisation, Team Plasma, is evil and all, just because of where our house is.”

“Underground, surrounding the Pokémon League, yes,” Roxy said. “That is somewhat sinister, don’t you admit?”

“It’s a really old place. Like, centuries, totally belonged to my great-times-42 grandpa, the original Hero of Ideals,” N said preppily. He must’ve actually rehearsed these responses. “It’s totally not our fault where the Pokémon League built their tower-thingy.”

“So you’re saying the allegations against your father are false?” Roxy asked.

“Uh. Yeah. I literally just said that.”

“But you don’t deny his link with Team Plasma?”

“No, why would I?” N curled his lip artfully. “Team Plasma is a pokémon rights group, are you against pokémon rights or something?”

“Of course not,” Roxy said, a bit too quickly and loudly. “Well. Um. It’s good to have that cleared up. Thank you, N.”

“Whatevz,” N replied, popping the gum Red hadn’t known he had.

“So, Hugh.” Roxy recovered quickly. “You’ve been very quiet. What’s your father like?”

“He’s cool,” Hugh said.

That was it.

“Well.” Roxy consulted her notes. “Let’s talk about _Natural Harmony_. How did three young men as different as you end up in a band together?”

“Destiny,” N said. “Totally destiny.”

“Yep,” Red agreed. “God’s will.”

Hugh didn’t say anything.

“I see… so how did you meet?”

“Destiny,” N repeated. “We just found each other.”

Red didn’t know why N was saying this shit, but it was totally great for pissing off Roxy.

“And did you just automatically mesh, then?” she asked. “Like destiny?”

“Pretty much, yes,” N lied.

“Yeah, like, totally,” Red said dryly.

“We’re a perfect band,” Hugh added, though he wasn’t very talented at hiding his disdain.

“N sings great too,” Red added. “He’s gonna sing a lot more of our upcoming songs.”

“That’s right,” N said. “I am.”

“Well, you certainly act like friends,” Roxy said, smirking. The bitch. “You’re going to perform your debut song for us, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Red replied. “But I’m not dancing on any poles this time.”

“Ah, that’s a shame, I’m sure Jesus approves of pole-dancing,” Roxy said, laughing at her own joke. “We’ll be back after the break with _Natural Harmony_ performing their debut hit, _Toxic_.”

Red stormed away as soon as she finished her sentence. It was only when Sycamore grabbed him and said “You weren’t cleared, you just stormed off on live TV after giving a _terrible_ interview, oh no, Elesa is not going to be happy…” that he realised there could be any problem. Or that the interview was live.

“I don’t really care,” Red replied. “She crossed the line first.”

“That’s what they _do_ Red, they try to get a dramatic response from you, and you don’t give it no matter what,” Sycamore sighed. “Oh, I see it’s my fault, my poor boy, I didn’t prepare you well enough.”

“Why does N get to be your ‘adonis’ and I’m just your ‘poor boy’?” Red asked.

“Because you are nineteen and he is twenty-one,” Sycamore replied. “Perhaps after your twentieth birthday… Ah, but you are distracting me on purpose. Elesa will be angry and I don’t know how much of her rage I can prevent from reaching you.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” Red said. He gave up on adults protecting him when he was ten and the police wouldn’t do anything about Team Rocket in Mt Moon.

“Then you are underestimating the danger of Elesa’s rage,” Sycamore replied grimly. “Quickly, get on stage, sing, we’ll try to chalk that last move up to cluelessness.”

Red sang, but only because he liked singing now. He didn’t care about Elesa’s rage at all. Everybody seemed to keep forgetting he had taken down Team Rocket. They couldn’t do much to scare him after that.

They were escorted from the premises as soon as they were cleared after the song. Sycamore spent the entire ride back arguing into a phone.

“Thanks for making it all about you and your creepy dad,” Red told N. “Really. Thanks.”

“It was my plan all along and you were in my way,” N replied. “I wasn’t trying to help you. That was only incidental.”

“And you should know that what I said about Team Plasma was true,” N added.

Hugh growled threateningly. N shut up.

Elesa shouted at them for a bit about ‘responsibility’ and ‘ruining their image as a sweet lovely boy band’ by being ‘insufferable brats’ and that they deserved all the inevitable failure they would be getting if they continued with their marketing as planned, and that she _really_ wasn’t sure if she could be bothered rebranding them at all.

“You are _so_ lucky I’m such a generous, sweet woman who isn’t legally capable of getting out of all your contracts,” Elesa finally hissed before storming off.

“Ah.” Sycamore sighed. “I believe we will have to write and record a couple of new songs, more fitting with a brattish, arrogant pop star image that no first album should have.”

“Whatever,” N said.

“We’ll have to start working on that together tomorrow,” Sycamore sighed. “In the meantime, you all — you all should work on that.”

Red felt a little bit sorry for Sycamore, but he still didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Why pretend to be nice to someone who was being horrible to them? And why pretend to be friendly and engaging when he really wasn’t?

Hugh left immediately without even saying bye. Red started to follow, but then N called out to him:

“Wait. I need to tell you something.”

Red turned to look at him. “Then, do it.”

“What I said in the interview is true,” N said, quickly, not at all preppily. “Team Plasma _is_ an organisation working for the sake of pokémon rights. And I know that, despite my original misconceptions, you are someone who really and truly cares for pokémon, and what is best for them.”

“And that’s, what?” Red asked suspiciously.

“Not this,” N replied. “Not being imprisoned in those devices, for the sake of PokéDexes and the petty amusement of humans. Do you not think that perhaps what we feel as pop stars is in anyway similar to what pokémon feel when they battle or perform for our entertainment? Yet we signed a contract, and all that happened to them was being beaten and forced into a Ball which controls their minds and suppresses their voices.”

Red took a step back. “I — I — what?”

N stepped closer. His eyes were blazing. “I cannot stand by and let my friends continue to be abused like this. Do you have any idea what percentage of pokémon are grossly mistreated by their captors?”

“Not… not that many…?”

“Ninety-six per cent,” N replied, furiously, “and that’s only the Unova statistic. I don’t know the global one. All I know there is a problem, and the problem is us, humans, and that for their own good, pokémon should be kept away from us.”

Red didn’t know what to say. He stared.

“I am not some pawn or detached figure in all of this, of course,” N continued. “I am the King of Team Plasma. Ghetsis is the pawn; he asked me to work with him to save pokémon, but his ambitions were too slight. That is why I am doing all this, to bring attention to our cause. I don’t believe Ghetsis’ idea of how I should go about it is the best one, but it did lead me to you.”

Oh, fuck. Red had been around Rockets more than enough times to know where this was going.

“Work with me,” N pleaded. “Work with me to help save pokémon. It breaks my heart that good, caring Trainers such as yourself are so few, and so caught up in problematic systems, and that you will be separated from your pokémon but — but it is for the greater good.”

Red remembered Silver saying that one before he ran off with his dad ‘for the greater good’. He hadn’t known Silver was talking about more than ditching school and leaving Viridian at the time, but now he new, anybody who rationalised something as ‘for the greater good’ was some crazy yakuza weirdo he shouldn’t trust.

“Let me think about it,” Red replied. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” N said. “Not everybody is of my intellect.”

“Yeah, exactly. So, I’m gonna, go think.”

Red bolted for the elevator. He’d leave. Being a pop star sucked, even if he liked singing more than he expected. He didn’t wanna lie in interviews, he didn’t wanna have to pole-dance any more, and he didn’t wanna get pulled into joining some sick evil team trying to take away his pokémon. So he’d run away, he’d go back up Mt Silver, and try rejoining society in another seven years maybe.

He made it to the lobby before someone shouted his name. It didn’t _sound_ like N, or Hugh, or Sycamore, so Red turned cautiously to face them.

It was Gold, running over to him, his band hanging in the background.

“Hey, dude, s’up?” he said, casually.

“Nothing,” Red replied.

“Awesome, then you should totally come hang out with us, and you should _totally_ battle me again because I swear that pikachu of yours is goin’ down.”

“No battles,” Red said. “But we’ll hang out with you.”

“Okay, I can deal with that,” Gold said brightly. He shouted over his shoulder, “HEY, GUYS, RED’S COMING TOO!”

“Coming where?” Red asked.

“My house,” Gold replied, grinning. “I say house but it’s an ultra cool apartment.”

“We’re underage drinking, it’s a glamorous Friday night tradition,” Ruby said.

“Sounds fun,” Red said. He couldn’t fake enthusiasm, and it really didn’t sound fun, but he’d never drunk before. It was part of the pop star life, wasn’t it?

Gold’s apartment was pretty impressive, big, surprisingly clean, with a great view of the Nimbasa amusement park, and a lot of various kinds of alcohol. Spirits, beers, wines, whatever. Red didn’t really know the difference. The others clearly did, as they started grabbing drinks (Wally went for the beer, X for the wine (of course), Ruby, Gold and the rattata freak started mixing stuff). Ruby handed Red something bright pink and said, “Try this.”

Red did. It was good. Tasted like pecha berry ice cream, only not frozen.

“Dude, don’t drink it so quickly, d’ya have any idea how much alcohol’s in that,” Gold whispered.

“I don’t care,” Red replied.

Gold raised his eyebrows. “What happened to you?”

Red shrugged, finished his drink, and immediately set to investigating his own theories about best tasting combinations. A lot of the spirits were already flavoured like nice things, mostly berries, and Gold kept reminding him to only take a _bit_ and water it down with lemonade. Red did try a full glass of basically just various berry flavoured spirits, but it didn’t taste as good as when it was mixed with lemonade. He still drank it, of course. He liked the fuzzy, light-headed feeling. It reminded him of his first few days breathing the thin air atop Mt Silver.

The others were talking, but Red didn’t care. He’d had enough talking for one day. He just sat there and drank. That was the image they tried to give him as an eleven- and twelve-year-old, anyway; cool, silent, mature beyond his years, a deep, broody thinker. Then Lance acted all surprised when Red quit being Champion after only a few months. All Red had ever wanted was to hang out with his pokémon, fight some battles, explore new places, compete with Green and Blue… and now he kinda wanted to keep singing, too. He hated all the pretences and lies that came with being in the public eye. He should’ve thought of that before he’d signed that damn contract, but he’d kinda forgotten how bad the whole celebrity thing was while he was on Mt Silver, so all he’d thought about was Green.

Eventually, Gold sat next to him on the couch and wouldn’t let him drink any more.

“I never thought you’d ever be a killjoy,” Red said.

“Alcohol isn’t joy, it’s stress relief, where have you been, up a mountain or something,” Ruby cut in, as he tended to do.

He was totally right, except it wasn’t making Red feel any less stressed, just less capable of thinking about Team Plasma and Green.

Slowly, the others started to leave. When Red tried to leave, Gold pulled him back onto the couch.

“You should probably stay here,” he said. “At least for a bit, you’ve, drunk a lot.”

“It doesn’t feel like a lot,” Red replied.

“It will if you move.”

Red sulked. It didn’t really help. Why did Green sulk so much if it didn’t help?

“So, what happened?” Gold asked.

“Interview,” Red replied. “Forgot how much I hate interviews.”

“Ah, yeah, they get old quickly,” Gold said. “I remember, after the Neo Team Rocket stuff in Johto, they were still hanging around outside our house a month later trying to talk to me, so Mum put the hose on them.”

“Good,” Red muttered bitterly. “My mum _liked_ it. She’d talk to them when I couldn’t. And told me to stop lying to them. But they like lies. That’s what they do. They sell lies.”

“Is that why you left?” Gold asked. “The press?”

Red shrugged. “I don’t like Pallet Town anyway.”

“Well, finding you on Mt Silver was one of the coolest things that ever happened to me, so whatever,” Gold said brightly. “You looked so _badass_.”

Red nodded. He didn’t know how else to respond.

“It was a cool mountain,” Gold sighed. “Dunno how you stayed there for so long, though.”

“I like it.”

“Obviously, dude, you were there for seven years.”

Red liked hanging out with Gold when Gold wasn’t squeeing. He liked it best when Gold talked about pokémon. But then at eleven, Gold suddenly gasped, dashed off, grabbed his laptop and came back, setting it on the table, open.

“Hey, dude, check it out, it’s Silver’s new song,” Gold called. “He says he’s doing an even less subtle ‘fuck you’ to Giovanni than usual!”

Red honestly didn’t care about Silver any more, but seeing Giovanni get told ‘fuck you’ was always nice. Coming from Silver, it might actually make Giovanni cry.

“Fine,” he said, climbing onto the couch next to Gold. He stared down at the laptop, paused on a black and white image of a room full of broken toys. Red bet Silver had gleefully broken them all himself, because Silver always had been a giant bag of dicks. Gold hit ‘play’ and the camera started a slow, wobbly pan cross to the corner, where Silver (dressed in all black. Of course.) sat with his knees against his chest, head bowed and fingerless-gloved hands in his hair. Gold gasped in excitement as the camera went in for an extreme close-up of Silver’s (obviously fake) tear-stained face as he breathily sang:

“ _Father, father, tell me, where have you been_?”

The full force of the rock kicked in as Silver jumped to his feet.

“ _It’s been hell not having you here, I’ve been missing you so bad, and you don’t seem to care_.”

Red glanced over at Gold. Gold was staring intently at Silver on the screen, apparently not even close to laughing as Silver continued:

“ _When I go to sleep at night, do you care_?”

Silver started smashing the toys even more with a guitar. Seemed like him.

“ _Why are you walking away_?”

Red felt a chill go down his spine. He leant closer to the TV, glaring and actually trying to decipher the words now.

“ _Was it something I did? Did I make a mistake, cos I’m trying to with the pain, I don’t understand this, is this how it is? I will try to understand_ … _Father, father, tell me where are you now? It’s been hell not having you. Last I heard you were fed up, you’re skipping town, no note to say where_.”

The fucking asshole was singing it like he’d actually been abandoned by Giovanni. Like he hadn’t gone with Giovanni willingly. Like Giovanni had suddenly just got bored one day and left.

Red crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from punching Gold’s laptop. He had to admit, there was some vindictive pleasure in watching Silver moving on to smash up what were clearly meant to be Giovanni’s possessions. Except it was still Silver and Giovanni.

It wasn’t even that good of a song. The lyrics were really repetitive, lots of ‘ _Why are you walking away_ ’ and ‘ _Is this what you call a family?_ ’, also Silver was totally making shit up and pinning it Giovanni to get sympathy sales and maybe Silver _was_ the new Team Rocket, it actually wouldn’t surprise Red one bit.

Though he had to admit, Silver _was_ a good singer. Except when he started death metal screaming ‘ _Father_ ’ and ‘ _Is this what you call a family_?’ it freaked Red out so much he jumped and Pika shocked him.

“Yeah, that’s all Silv,” Gold laughed. “He’s. He’s definitely got a good outlet for the angst now.”

Red was kind of jealous that anybody else was getting any aspect of Gold’s admiration. Especially since it was Silver, and he _really_ hated Silver now.

The song ended with Silver sitting surrounded by smashed up stuff, echoing out to “ _Is this what you call a family?_ ” and Red’s relief.

“Man Silver’s cool,” Gold sighed. “I gotta call him.”

“I should go,” Red said quickly.

“No, no, it’s cool!” Gold cried. “It won’t take long, and it totally won’t be awkward, Silver’s _so_ awesome now.”

Red seriously doubted that, but he also seriously doubted his own ability to stand, so he looked away as Gold did the _worst possible thing_ and started video calling Silver using his laptop. Silver minus the makeup looked just as bratty as when they were in primary school. Red made sure to roll his eyes and project pure disgust when Silver glanced at him.

“Hi Silv!” Gold cried. “We just listened to your song, it’s so good, has Giovanni cried yet?”

“Not yet,” Silver replied. “I think he’s going to hide in Tohjo Falls again, like he did after —”

“That one that’s all ‘ _You can’t hurt me now, I got away from you, I never thought I would_ ’?”

Red glanced at Silver in the same moment Silver glanced at him, before Silver quickly said, “Uh-huh. Anyway, I’ve got another concert tomorrow.”

“Is the tour almost over?” Gold whined. “It’s been forever!”

“It’s been two months and you won’t stop calling me. It’s not that bad.”

“But when’re you _back_?”

“Two week.”

“Good!” Gold leant closer to the computer screen and softly said, “When you get back, I wanna talk to you about something really important.”

Silver blushed, and Red found his comprehension of the world being challenged. “I know. I wanna talk to you about it too.”

Gold grinned. “Cool. Totally. Awesome. Yeah. Cool. Cool.”

“Cool,” Silver echoed.

Gold laughed. It wasn’t even funny? Then he said, “I miss you so much, Silv.”

And Silver blushed _even more_.

“Don’t talk like that in front of your hero,” Silver muttered.

Gold glanced at Red in wonder. “Shit. Uh. I forgot you were here. Sorry. I, tend to forget other stuff, when… when Silver’s around…”

Silver sighed — not pissily, either. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Bye!” Gold cried. “Hope the song makes you dad hide in a cave from embarrassment again!”

“Oh, it will.”

Then Silver hung up, and Gold was sighing longingly.

“I love him so much,” he announced.

“Uh. Okay.”

Gold sunk low on the couch, staring at the laptop, and started to replay the music video.

“I’m gonna go,” Red said.

“Aw, okay, see ya tomorrow, bromeo!” Gold laughed. “That’s gonna be the name of our next song. ‘ _Bromeo_ ’.”

“Uh-huh.”

Red struggled to get up, and walk, but he was glad to get out of there. Seeing someone being so cutesy was unnerving. Especially since, for a moment there, he’d thought Silver was cute too. But it was _Silver_. Silver ditched them to go take over the world with his dad, and Red had always had a habit of focusing on that over anything else ever since. In hindsight, that may have been what pissed Blue off in the first place, and what made Green decide they were eternal rivals. Silver had been their friend, and he’d just left them like that didn’t matter, so of course Green had gotten put off the whole ‘friendship’ thing.

It was completely unfair that Silver could leave them, then come out of it being cute in the face of Gold’s love. He didn’t deserve anybody’s love. Nobody who could thoughtlessly abandon kids deserved love.

Walking was really hard work, and Red remembered that he’d promised Char some flying time, so he sent Char out and said, “Sorry. I didn’t, wanna fly like this, I’m sorry.”

But Char was patient and forgiving in a way that only a pokémon could be. He didn’t fly too fast, so Red could cling and not fall off while thinking about how much he fucking hated Silver.

Hating Silver made Red miss Green, so, on impulse, he pulled out his phone and called him. Between the wind and his spinning head, Red couldn’t see the names in his contact list too well, but he was sure he got it right. When Green picked up, Red started ranting before he could reply.

“Green, I hope you’re sorry cos I miss you. And, there’s all this bullshit, with Team Plasma and Reshiram, I don’t even know what Reshiram is, but my co-singer-dude is, like, their king. Why a king? Giovanni was never a king. Or any of the other fuckwits I heard about, like, Cyrus and… those Hoenn losers. I’m so fuckin’ sick of this, why can’t people stop abusing pokémon, Green? Fuck you, actually, you were shit to your pokémon too. Fuckin’… the fuck did you do to your raticate? Did you kill it? It just fuckin’ disappeared? What did you do to your raticate? Did you just dump it in the PC? You’re an asshole. I miss you. Fuck you.”

He hung up, threw his phone away and collapsed against Char’s back, groaning himself to sleep. He woke up in a forest, with Char curled around him and Pika, and a lot of small Bug pokémon looking at them all in terror. The sun was also offensively bright.

“Sorry,” Red groaned. “I don’t know how to make good life choices.”

Char dropped his head in Red’s lap and snorted.

Red leant back against Char. “We could keep going.”

Char snorted again.

“Well, I don’t wanna be here,” Red muttered. “What would be so bad?”

Char lifted his head, staring at Red steadily.

“I don’t care about responsibility,” Red replied. “I just — I just wanted Green to notice me. And hate me again instead of not caring.”

Pika’s cheeks started to spark.

“Fine, I’m scared,” Red admitted. “I don’t wanna get mixed up in Team Plasma. I don’t. I don’t wanna risk losing you guys. You’re all I have.”

“Pikaa,” Pika said, eloquently, gesturing what Red assumed was the way they came from Nimbasa. Emphatically, Pika continued to squeak, gesturing more frantically with more fingers each time.

“I know, I know,” Red sighed. “I’ll do the right thing, I just won’t be happy about it.”

Char growled slightly.

“And I’ll finish the pop star thing, yeah, yeah, I won’t run away, life’s not all about fun, all that, yeah,” Red grumbled. “Sometimes, I hate you guys too.”

Char nuzzled his shoulder, so of course Red hugged him. Pika was too macho for that kinda thing.

“Let’s go back then,” Red said. “I’m gonna get shouted at. I bet.”

Sycamore didn’t shout, but he hugged him and cried in relief. Red wished he would’ve shouted.

“You beautiful child, don’t abandon us ever again!” Sycamore cried, dramatically, like that was at all what Red was doing.

“Don’t call me a beautiful child, it sounds like a crime,” Red muttered, shoving him off. “I just got a little lost.”

“I should still take over as lead singer,” N said. “Because unlike you, _I’m_ not the one being called a bratty diva.”

“For once in your life,” Hugh said.

“You really need to get over me,” N snapped.

Hugh looked enraged.

“Red, it might be for the best,” Sycamore said apologetically. “He did write most of those love songs, and there are speculation that you, ah, corrupted him.”

If N got what he wanted, it would mean Team Plasma would get what they wanted. Red couldn’t let that happen.

“I have an idea too though,” Red stalled. “I can still be a bratty diva and sing. Our first song was pretty bratty diva, really.”

N bristled. “Excuse _you_.”

And suddenly Red had it. N could barely maintain the pop star persona Ghetsis tried to force him into. How could N possibly handle being the idol of millions while maintaining a good, selfless image?

“I’ll be the bratty diva, and N should be the sweetheart,” Red said.

Sycamore nodded thoughtfully. “That could work well. You will be the ‘bad boy’, and N the sensitive one… yes…”

“Convincing,” Hugh muttered.

“And Hugh, the jerk with a heart of gold, as you always have been,” Sycamore chuckled. “Yes, yes, I think this could work. Red, you will sing the more arrogant songs, and N, the more sensitive.”

“I suppose this is the best outcome,” N agreed. “But very few of the songs we have recorded are appropriate for such an image, surely.”

“Like, totally,” Hugh snorted.

“You’re on point today,” Red muttered to him.

Hugh glared.

Red wondered, what would Green do? People always called Green a bratty jerk, and it was apparently okay to lie in songs like Silver, so…

“I’ll sing a song about how great it is to be famous and popular,” Red announced.

“Genius,” Sycamore cried. “My boy, you are truly as brilliant as I’ve always been told.”

Red shrugged. He didn’t care about his own public image, but it would rub off on N and Team Plasma by association, and Plasma would never rally the support N wanted if people hated _Natural Harmony_.

The best thing was, with the sly sneaky approach, Red wouldn’t be risking his pokémon’s safety. And it didn’t hurt that Green would be seriously pissed off and hopefully forget all about that phone call if Red was being an arrogant jerk all over the place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'A Trophy Father's Trophy Son' is the property of Sleeping With Sirens and Rise Records. 'Oh Father' is the property of Madonna and Warner Bros. Lyrics from both were included in this chapter because being Silver is much more suffering than Red thinks. (I'm sorry, Silver.)


	6. Siberia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red ruins everything by rapping, and Black receives a proposition from Hugh.

In light of N being a complete asshole and the knowledge that the fuckwit’s first public interview was airing live on his afternoon off, Black decided to go hang out with White and watch it. Of course, as she hadn’t had a chance to corner him since _[bruised]_ ’s debut, White spent the first few minutes of their reunion shouting at him.

“First you make the _terrible_ decision to stay with Cheren and his emo bullshit in the first place, then you don’t tell me your new singer is _Blue_?! _The_ Blue?! And she’s a totally hot emo?! Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“I don’t think she’s hot, I think she’s annoying,” Black replied.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME BEFORE SHE GOT ANNOYING!”

“It was a pretty immediate thing.”

“AND RED! Did you know about that too?!”

“No, didn’t have a clue. I haven’t really met him, I think Elesa’s encouraging Red and Blue to compete.”

“Yeah, she’d totally do that. AND THEN I SEE YOU PERFORMING WITH GREEN MOTHERFUCKIN’ OAK, WHAT THE HELL, BLACK?! YOU’RE THE WORST BROTHER!”

“Contracts,” Black replied weakly. “And I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” White said. She settled into pouting. “I’m still disappointed you didn’t break the law to tell me.”

“I’ve barely seen you.”

“I know. It’s totally weird.” White sighed and looked away. “We’ve never really done things separately, have we? It’s so weird not looking over my shoulder and seeing you there, being a total nerd and buzz kill.”

“Would a nerd really sing emo?”

White raised her eyebrows. “Duh, Cheren.”

There was no arguing with that, so Black asked, “What do you think of our songs, then?”

“I think they’re _obviously_ Silver’s rejects,” White replied. “But whatever, tween angst is tween angst.”

Again, there was no arguing with that. Black slipped past her and flopped down on the couch. “What about Red’s song?”

“Fucking hilarious.”

“I thought it was pretty good,” Black replied, searching for the remote.

“Yeah, but there’s no getting past that it’s Red,” White replied as she walked over. She reached down the back of the couch, pulled out the remote and handed it to him. “That eager for his interview, hm?”

“It’s _Red_. Nobody’s heard him speak since he was eleven.”

“That sounds completely impossible —”

Black rolled his eyes. “I mean in _public_.”

White sat down next to him and ruffled his hair. “I know, I’m messing, you taught me how to be an anal little prick.” She snatched the remote back and turned the TV on. “They’re on Roxy’s show, did ya know?”

Black frowned. “But, Red wasn’t even good at talking to the press when he was eleven. And wouldn’t he _know_ Platinum? So shouldn’t it —?”

“Why don’t you just ask him to marry you already,” White muttered.

They watched the interview without communicating beyond groans and winces. Black couldn’t stop frowning at N slurring his bizarre ideology with slang he clearly didn’t understand. Didn’t N realise how terrifying he was? No, that would probably take self-awareness. N probably thought his prettiness excused everything. It was kinda hard not to end up a narcissist thanks to celebrity, and N was clearly already there.

After Red stormed off across the stage (right in front of the camera _how do you even make a mistake that massive_ ) White turned to Black and said, “I’m sorry, don’t marry him.”

“What?” Black shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Oh. Red. I think he’s in love with Green Oak.”

White pulled a face. “Why would anybody do that?”

Black shrugged. “He handed me some note to give to Green.”

White gasped in excitement. “Did you read it?”

“Of course I did. It was some shit making fun of Green for singing with us.”

White nodded thoughtfully. “Well. Fair enough.”

Black tried to recall the exact wording. “He definitely called Green a nerdlord then said he loved him.”

White raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like plain bullying, bullying isn’t love, you’re the nerdlord.”

“Okay, whatever,” Black grumbled. “They’re all assholes anyway. I thought Green had to be better than his reputation, but…”

“How’d he react to the note?” White demanded.

“I didn’t give it to him.”

“What the _fuck_ , Hilbert?!”

“It would’ve upset him! And it took so much to convince him to perform with us, then after, get this, he said ‘They actually like me’.”

“…so?”

Black huffed irritably. “I felt sorry for him.”

“Oh, you’re such a _sucker_ ,” White groaned. “This is why you’re still working with Cheren! Everybody _knows_ you don’t wanna except him, Cheren only sees what he _wants_ to see, you’re too nice for your own good! You need to just… look after yourself first!”

“Maybe,” Black muttered. It was easier than saying he didn’t want to. He didn’t ever want to stop caring about other people.

But like she knew what he was thinking, White continued, “Other people _matter_ , you shouldn’t just be a jerk, unless it’s to fuckwits like Green Oak who totally deserve it, but you gotta look after yourself cos nobody else is gonna.”

“Okay,” Black said, trying his best not to sound _too_ irritated. “But I’m _fine_ with the emo right now.”

“Fine,” White said. “So, know what’s up with that freak in Red’s band?”

A million thoughts crashed together all at once in Black’s mind. He didn’t really want to make sense of them, so he simply replied, “Team Plasma think they’re being subtle.”

“Obviously,” White snorted. “Know him?”

“Not really.”

It was much simpler to just leave it at that. Bored with the lack of gossip, White changed to a music video channel and, just like that, they were back into the old habit of fondling mocking everything they saw — especially Gold’s band.

“I can never believe the shit they get away with,” White sighed as they watched their latest (a tragic pop ballad about Siberia, of all things). “Imagine if we’d gotten to write songs from Stalin’s point of view…”

“It’s clearly Lenin,” Black said. “Listen.”

“ _My heart did time in Siberia, was waiting for the lie to come true_ ,” Gold sang. “ _Cos it’s all so dark and mysterious when the one you want doesn’t want you too_.”

“Oh my god, it’s _Trotsky_ ,” White gasped. “Okay but for real, what is this song? What the hell? They need to stop releasing songs every five minutes, maybe then they won’t write about fuckin’ _Siberia_.”

“They’re not even rhyming Siberia with anything,” Black agreed.

White shook her head. “Hey, think it’s about Silver?”

“Oh, probably. Gold’d come out and say if it is though, wouldn’t he? He usually does.”

Sure enough, after the song ended, they were taken to Platinum’s music show. Gold was the only member of _Top Percentage_ there, but to compensate, Pearl and Diamond were co-hosting for the afternoon.

“That was a deep song,” Pearl said.

“Heart-wrenching,” Diamond agreed.

“It was definitely full of interesting lyrics,” Platinum said.

“Thanks,” Gold grinned. “We got the idea from X’s European history homework.”

White laughed. “Oh, my god. No fuckin’ _way_.”

“Unbelievable,” Black agreed.

Gold winked at the camera, like he’d heard them.

“Change it to something indie, I can’t take this any more,” White laughed.

Black did what she asked, for both of their sakes.

*

A fortnight later, Green was still hanging around their studio all day every day. It was already a little pathetic, but Black felt bad for him; he clearly thought being emo with them would make people like him. Of course, Green was still a humungous arsehole, so nobody liked him. Black took some vindictive pleasure in watching Blue’s left eye twitch with irritation every time Green spoke, but she never told him to fuck off. Not even when he kept following them to photo-shoots.

Of course, this meant Black had to hear Green’s opinion of Red’s interview. At first he got pretty pissed off that Roxy mentioned Red’s dad (“That’s _illegal_ in Pallet! And totally pathetic!”) but then he kept laughing at N. He didn’t laugh at Red at all, surprisingly. Blue did, regularly, and Black was constantly caught between silently hating her for it and silently agreeing that Red was kinda… well, stupid. He made sure to stay _very_ silent about either opinion; Green kept shouting at Blue for calling Red stupid. Black wished Elesa would tell Green to piss off, but every time they saw her, she just ignored him. She looked very stressed, so Black didn’t want to start shit by stirring her up. He figured it was probably because Red didn’t turn out as media compatible as she’d probably expected.

Cheren was pretty irritated with Green too, and the most open about it. He’d never been too good at reeling in his emotions or not flatly telling people what he thinks of them in a blaze of cringe-worthy but completely admirable honesty. Which was why every day Cheren would greet Green with, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

To which Green would reply, “Ha, yeah right, you _need_ me.”

And Cheren would glare at Blue.

Black was waiting for Blue to snap.

On the fourteenth day, Cheren was an hour late. For Cheren, this was so late Alder started freaking out about him being kidnapped and Black couldn’t blame him; he was getting pretty worried too.

“What’s the big deal?” Green said, because he was a fucking douche. “You’re not doing anything that big today.”

“Shut up,” Black replied. He had enough self-control not to add ‘douche’ this time.

“Want me to call some people?” Blue asked. “I have a lot of… contacts… they’ll be able to find him quickly.”

“You shut up too,” Black groaned. He didn’t want to imagine how Cheren would react to being found by some mob or gang or whatever.

“He’ll be here soon, he’s just, running late and forgot to call,” Alder said unconvincingly. “That’s all. That’s it. He’ll be here.”

Almost as soon as Alder finished speaking, the door opened. Cheren walked in, looking extremely dazed, holding a CD or a DVD, it didn’t matter which. Black ran over to him.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Red,” Cheren replied quietly.

“What?!” Green shouted.

Cheren sighed and looked at Green. “He dragged me off and made me wait as he burnt some DVD for me to give you.”

“Then why do you look like he tortured you?” Black asked. “It’s not, just the pop, is it?”

“No,” Cheren said slowly. “It’s not just the pop.”

“Then…?”

Cheren threw the DVD at Green. “It’s gonna be as bad as _Call Me Maybe_.”

Black felt a chill go down his spine.

“You mean that cute song Lyra sang?”

“It was not cute!” Cheren cried. “Because of that song, Elesa… Elesa…”

“Elesa told us to get a more pop edge,” Black finished for him. “Also they were playing it everywhere and it got _really_ annoying.”

“Typical Sycamore,” Alder muttered. “It can’t be that bad, Cherry. It’ll be okay.”

Blue snatched the DVD from Green’s hands. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

The music video started in a nightclub, with a technopop beat and an inane chant of ‘ _Pop, pop_ ’, and that was all Black needed to hear to know Cheren was totally right. Black’s eye twitched slightly as N walked into the club, side-by-side with Hugh. Both looked determined to revive the worst part of the 80s; the fluorescent fashion.

“Cliché,” Blue yawned.

Then two hands pried Hugh and N apart, shoving them over, and Red strutted into the club. He was wearing a very familiar purple long-sleeved top and blue pants combo. It wasn’t until Green shouted “What the _fuck_ ” that Black realised it was identical to Green’s original (and classic) Trainer outfit from when he was eleven — and looked tight enough on Red that it might have been the same one precisely. Everybody in the club turned to stare at Red, and then _Red was **rapping**_.

“ _I hate to say it but they play this damn song in every club, but it’s me so I’ll show love, but it’s me so show me love_.”

Everybody started fawning, turning to keep staring adoringly as Red walked past.

“ _And when I walk into the room, people stop and stare. It’s like nobody else is there. You know it’s me_ ,” Red pointed at himself,“ _not you_ ,” then directly at the camera, “ _who said anything about you_?”

Red walked towards the bar, ignoring people waving for his attention. He switched to singing, but it was still way more like speaking than his previous track record.

“ _Boys and girls pretend to know me, they try so hard_.”

The bartender held out a pink cocktail in a martini glass.

“ _And I get what I want, my name is my credit card_.”

Red handed a pre-autographed card to the bartender and took the drink. The bartender fainted.

“ _Don’t try to hate me because I am so popular. Pop, pop, pop-u-lar. Pop, pop, pop-u-lar_.”

Suddenly, Gold appeared and wrapped an arm around Red’s shoulder. Gold wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a long (obviously fake) white fur coat and black bondage pants. He kissed Red’s cheek, and Red started rapping _again_.

“ _Most guys I got intimidated so now I date up_ ,” Red walked his fingers up Gold’s bare chest,“ _if ya know what I mean so they shut up, if ya know what I mean so just shut up_.”

He turned so his and Gold’s lips were nearly touching. “ _Cos I don’t wanna give half away on the day we don’t make out, if ya know what I mean when we wake up_ ,” Red threw the drink in Gold’s face and shoved him over, “ _If ya know what I mean when we break up_.”

Red walked across the centre of the dance floor, ignoring invitations to dance as he once again sang, “ _Boys and girls pretend to know me, they try so hard_.”

The camera panned up to show a throne, classic red velvet with a golden frame, on a platform overlooking the dance floor. Hanging from the left side of the back was a crown.

“ _And I get what I want, my name is my credit card_.”

Black pre-emptively groaned.

“ _Don’t try to hate me because I am so popular. Pop, pop, pop-u-lar_.”

Red sat on the throne, pulled the sunglasses from his face, and leant forward toward the camera as he sang, “ _You always wanna be ‘round me, so you know what it’s like when the world is at your feet_ ,” He gestured widely towards the dance floor, “ _and you V.I.P. tonight. You’ve either got it or you don’t, and I’m sorry you wouldn’t get there by usin’ me, just go and do your own thing_.”

The camera cut to N and Hugh dancing in the middle of the club with Gold’s band, panning across the crowd all dancing during the instrumental break, and one more repeat of the chorus (during which everybody kept looking up at Red, who was studying himself in a hand-held mirror) before returning to Red on the throne singing.

Red threw the mirror away and leant back, tossing his legs over the armrest as he sang the chorus yet again. He pulled the crown from the top of the chair and placed it on his head as he sang the final, “ _Don’t try to hate me because I am so popular. Pop, pop, pop-u-lar_.”

The image faded to darkness as Red chanted, “ _Pop, pop, pop-u-lar_ ” several more times.

Nobody said anything. Black couldn’t think of what to say either. He was, frankly, amazed at how far Red was going. And pretty amused by the song.

“You see,” Cheren said.

“Yeah, I see,” Black replied.

“If anybody but Red was singing that, it wouldn’t even do that well,” Cheren grumbled. “It’s mediocre at best.”

“It’s catchy,” Black said. He risked a glance at Green and Blue. Blue was twitching. Green was scowling.

“Why is he dressed like me,” Green growled.

“Why is he bouncing back from ruining his own career,” Blue hissed. “That makes it look like he can go solo!”

“He should’ve!” Green shouted. “If you’re gonna _betray_ artistic integrity entirely and ride coat tails to the top, why let some green-haired bitch and whatever the hell that other thing is ride with you?!”

“He’s not talented enough to make it alone,” Blue replied.

“Get real, it’s _Red_ , he’s amazing at everything without even trying, he’s always better than _everybody_ , even people who’re _really trying hard_ …”

“Maybe he supports Team Plasma,” Black suggested. “Maybe this is a big deal and someone should look into it.”

“Look, I understand you’re trying to make us laugh so we feel better, but this isn’t a joking matter, Black,” Blue said.

“No kidding, fuckwit,” Green grumbled.

Alder patted Black on the shoulder. “I know Team Plasma is hilariously ridiculous, but now’s not the time.”

Black rolled his eyes.

“How can we compete with a song like that?!” Blue groaned. “Emos can’t be egotistical, can they?”

“Absolutely not,” Cheren sniffed.

“Why was Red with Gold anyway,” Green growled. “And that, _shit_ , how does _Red_ even know what ‘ _giving half away_ ’ means?!”

“They’re probably dating,” Blue replied casually — a little _too_ casually. “Gold used to go visit Red on that mountain a lot, didn’t he?”

“Like, three times, that’s nothing!” Green shouted.

“More times than you went up,” Blue retorted.

“Oh, fuck you,” Green hissed. He stood up, flipped them all off, then stormed off.

“At least he’s gone,” Blue muttered. Louder, she said, “So, how do we block this crap from outshining us?”

“We don’t,” Cheren said. “It’s terrible, soulless music, but we let the masses have what they want and offer a better alternative.”

“That’s giving up without even trying,” Blue said. “I’m not doing that. Red doesn’t deserve this attention, he’s not even that good.”

“Are any of you Dex Holders?” Cheren asked coldly. “You’re here because of old fame, not talent. Don’t delude yourself.”

Blue glared. She opened her mouth slightly, but her usual wit appeared to have vanished.

“That’s way too far, Cheren,” Alder scolded.

“Whatever,” Cheren said. “We’re not doing this purely to be a spectacle. We’re definitely not doing this to compete with the worst kind of pop.”

Honestly, Black was quite impressed with Cheren’s integrity, but he didn’t think antagonising Blue would end well for anybody. So he quickly said, “If you’re that concerned about it, probably the best thing we can do is switch around our single release order so we’re releasing some tragically beautiful ballad. People like variety.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Blue said. “Unless Lord Emo has some issue with that?”

“Not really,” Cheren replied. “Be as shallow as you want.”

“Let’s take a break,” Alder suggested. “Let’s, take the rest of the day off.”

“Good plan,” Blue said. She flicked her hair back as she stood up. “Later, nerds.”

After the door closed behind Blue, Cheren turned to Black and muttered, “None of these people are as cool as I thought they’d be. Or is it just me?”

“It’s not just you,” Black replied.

Deciding it would be best to leave Cheren in Alder’s capable hands, Black left soon after. He didn’t really care what they released next, he just hoped it stayed in his head enough to keep Red’s song out of it. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem likely.

In the lobby, Black noticed someone standing near the door, and felt an immediate rush of ‘oh god not him’ even though they were nowhere near as tall, thin or longhaired as N. It wasn’t Red, either, thankfully. It was Hugh.

“Hi,” Black said, for politeness’ sake.

Hugh glanced around, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside to an alleyway. He was way too strong.

“What the hell?” Black cried.

“Building’s been bugged,” Hugh said. “Need to ask you something.”

Hugh reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Black’s rush of complete panic faded completely when Hugh held out a badge.

“I’m with Interpol,” Hugh explained. “Been investigating Team Plasma for a long time time.”

“How, what, aren’t you kinda, way too young?” Black squeaked.

“If kids in Kanto get to wander around on their own with pokémon from age ten…” Hugh dismissively replied. Everybody always said that to the ‘too young’ question. “You’ve noticed what they’re doing, haven’t you?”

“A bit,” Black replied. “I’ve noticed N’s involved with them, but, um, who hasn’t by now.”

“But do you care?” Hugh asked.

Black nodded.

“More than you care about all this shitty music?”

Black nodded again, more forcefully.

“And you’re willing to help me?”

“Isn’t it a crime if I don’t?” Black asked.

“No, you’ll just have to live with yourself.”

That wasn’t sinister or anything.

“I wanna stop them from doing anything to hurt pokémon,” Black said. “I don’t really understand what they’re really trying to do, but I don’t think it’ll be good for anybody.”

“No, it won’t,” Hugh said simply. “Have you noticed that fuckwit N’s unnatural interest in you?”

Black grimaced, but nodded.

“Then I think you probably know what I’m going to ask you to do.”

Black sighed, nodded, and asked for the sake of confirmation, “You want me to pretend to like him then report to you what he tells me, don’t you?”

Hugh smirked slightly and nodded.

Black didn’t really see how he could refuse, so he didn’t. At least he’d be doing something useful between emo songs now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Siberia' is the property of the Backstreet Boys and Jive Records. 'Popular' is the property of The Veronicas and Sire Records. Both are pretty fucking glorious and you should probably go listen to them if you haven't heard them.


	7. In the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red becomes even grumpier, and is reunited with an old 'friend'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more underage drinking in this chapter. Chill, Red. Chill.

The moment Red stepped outside his hotel, he saw Green. Like the dickweed he was, Green was leaning against the side of the building, arms folded sulkily across his chest, eyes covered with large, mirrored sunglasses. Red tried to sneak away before Green noticed him, but before he took even one step, Green looked at him and spat, “ _You_.”

“I know, you wanna smell me, but I don’t really have time right now,” Red replied quickly. “Later.”

Green grabbed his arm. “The fuck’s your _problem_?”

“You,” Red replied, more sass than sincerity. He was being pretty sincere too, except he really had way more of a problem with Team Plasma existing than Green existing.

“Oh, get _over_ yourself,” Green snapped.

“After you.”

“Your comebacks have gotten so _pathetic_ , ya know that?”

“Yours were always pathetic,” Red replied, on instinct, accidentally totally proving Green’s point. He pulled his arm away. “If you’re not interested in helping me, stay away from me. That’s always been the deal, hasn’t it. I fix it, you hide.”

“I have no _fuckin’_ clue what you’re getting all high and mighty about now, just leave me outta your shitty pop grudges.”

“But you’re so willing to help Blue seek attention, right, typical. How do I keep forgetting it’s all about attention.”

All of a sudden, Green didn’t look so pissed. He actually did look confused.

_It’s all a trick_ , Red reminded himself, _you left that message about Team Plasma, this is the result of eighty-six months of ignoring you to be a celebrity. He finally learned how to act_.

“Are you insane now?” Green asked. “Did you actually lose your mind?”

Red rolled his eyes and shrugged. He walked away as quickly as he could without starting to run. Green was a fuckwit — no news there. Red’d hoped he’d actually give a damn about Team Plasma, though.

Red was also maybe a little disappointed to find pissing Green off wasn’t enough any more. They’d been apart for _eighty-six months_. He wanted something more substantial. Except he had no clue how to get it. Their dynamic had always been Green being an asshole, Red being an asshole back, and then some intense rival eye-sex (or whatever the ten-year-old equivalent was) followed by Red destroying Team Rocket and Green kinda whining.

Of course, when Red arrived at the studio, everybody was nauseating. Sycamore praised him for his brave sacrifice of his image (like he cared), Elesa praised him for hitting number one, Ghetsis called him ‘fabulous’, N begrudgingly muttered something about it being a success in the end, Hugh was probably laughing at him on the inside…

“— and you’ll be going on _So Fresh_ , you know, Platinum’s show this afternoon,” Sycamore told him.

“Can I actually not?” Red muttered.

“Of course not! You must sell this new image to completion! Do you like baseball?”

“No.”

Sycamore persisted with the metaphor anyway. “Consider it making it home instead of staying on third base forever!”

N didn’t complain about Red getting all the attention. He didn’t seem to care at all. In fact, he was barely looking up from his rhinestone-covered phone. It was one of those impractical fruit-inspired (or whatever) ones that wouldn’t survive a day atop a mountain. Red hated N all the more for it. What was supposed to fuel him if not consuming the hatred of others?

Hugh didn’t even seem irritated by N’s happiness. In fact, he kept smirking about it when he thought no one was looking. Red had never been more confused by something he didn’t actually care about.

After Ghetsis left, soon followed by Sycamore and Elesa, N became even more obnoxious with his happiness.

“Soon the world you represent will be no more,” N told Red breathily.

“Like, whatevz,” Red replied. He tried to bopper it up, but his deadpan game was too intense. Also, he didn’t have any gum to pop.

“What’s even your deal?” Hugh asked.

“I don’t understand the quest— oh. ‘Deal’ as in a slang noun for ‘problem’ or ‘obsession’.”

“It’s not really slang.”

N spoke over him very loudly, “You will have to wait and see what my ‘deal’ is. But in the meantime; I have a boyfriend.”

Red gagged.

“He’s a fake emo, which makes him a strategically genius,” N gushed, _actually gushed_. “Of course, when the time comes he will stand beside me as — that which does not concern you as it is my ‘deal’.”

“Getting less and less slang-y,” Hugh remarked.

N sniffed. “The negativity and misery you both attempt to spread is a direct result of your oppressing pokémon.”

“Are you even trying to be subtle any more?” Red asked, genuinely curious. He hoped the answer was yes.

“I am pulling off the plan with utmost perfection, as I pull off everything,” N replied.

“So…? Yes, no, maybe…?”

“I don’t think I will set either of you free from your cages of misery,” N huffed. “You seem to enjoy it so much it would most likely be cruel. And I am not cruel.”

“If you’re not cruel, stop talking,” Hugh suggested.

Red would’ve said it, except he was starting to think maybe N had a point. Maybe he was trapped in a cage of misery. He hadn’t been very happy after leaving that damn mountain.

That was stupid, though. N was a maniac who wanted to take over the world. He thought pokémon were oppressed — he thought _Red_ was a symbol of oppression. How could someone that stupid be right about anything?

N did stop talking to them, but he didn’t stop being so obviously and blatantly happy. He kept smiling at him _phone_. Of all the bullshit. And Green couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge a voicemail message, the fuckwit.

Red’s grumpiness made it easy to be a rude brat to Platinum, even though her soft-spoken kindness wrapped around something solid and deadly as metal reminded him of his mother a bit. Or maybe because it reminded him of his mother. Red was pretty over emotions. They didn’t really happen on the mountain.

N struggled more to be nice. Perhaps it was because Platinum was a Trainer and Dex Holder too? He kept glaring at her as he answered questions and speaking with utter hatred. Platinum responded with iciness of her own. Red imagined she was wondering why the hell some bratty spoilt prince of a pop star thought he could intimidate her, the one who walked into the Distortion World with her head held high and no hesitation. He could relate to Platinum a lot.

He wished he could still relate to Green.

Red went to bed and had grumpy dreams. He woke up grumpy, had a grumpy day, and went to bed again grumpy. He listened to a _[bruised]_ song about numbing pain until Blue’s made of stone ( _what_ pain?) on repeat, alternated with that fucking song Silver stole daddy issues to write. Weeks passed in a haze of grumpiness during which he hardly spoke. His most social activity was playing with his pokémon almost constantly, not even in a pointed way to piss N off. He was also forced into muttering vaguely to show Sycamore yes, he understood the tour plans, yes, he was fine with N singing that song, no, he didn’t care how creepy it was.

“You understand that we will be launching your album at the end of the month, yes?” Sycamore continually checked.

“Mhmmm.”

“And you understand that after that, you will be going on tour?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Then, do you subsequently understand that you will be on tour for three months?”

“Mhmmm.”

“You have no objections?”

“Mhmmm.”

He kept showing Red outfits he was to wear. Red found it much harder to even vocalise a response to them. What did clothes matter? Except the clothes that pissed Green off so much, because Green was a humourless dick who couldn’t take what he dished out, the fuckwit.

Red did his bit in a music video for a song N was singing about how badly he wanted to do his phone-boyfriend, which was mostly standing in the corner smoking an unlit cigarette while wearing bright pink leather pants.

“That will be your signature,” Sycamore informed him. “Signature clothes are essential, no?”

“Mhmmm.”

Then Ghetsis came up with an idea that not only broke Red out of his grumpy stupor, but made him get over himself a bit.

“I was thinking of ways the tour can draw more attention,” Ghetsis started. “As I understand it, Elesa has expressed plans to have that… ‘delightful’ emo pet project of hers touring during a similar period of time. This could, of course, be damaging to our own promotions.”

“Ah, I don’t think so,” Sycamore interrupted. “We are, of course, in different genres. Our demographics may be similar, but our fans do not particularly overlap, Mr Harmonia.”

“Do you not think it suggests a conflict of interest? That this company does not have faith in this band?” Ghetsis asked, smiling sadly/angrily.

“I don’t think many would realise we belong to the same label, no.”

Ghetsis’ smile became more angry/sad. “Won’t you at least consider my suggestion?”

Sycamore forced a smile of his own. “Of course. How rude of me.”

“Yes, quite.” Ghetsis started pacing as he ranted. “Classically, music has been a media kept strictly to itself.”

Hugh interrupted, “Media is the plural. The singular is medium.”

“Both are acceptable,” Ghetsis snarled. He quickly composed himself and resumed the pacing rant. “The so-called ‘band tour’ in particular has remained segregated to music. I believe this is wrong. I believe this must change.”

Red was so done with Team Plasma’s melodramatic bullshit.

“And so, I propose that we combine two of the most popular forms of live entertainment. We must segregate no longer. Particularly when one member of our band is already such a prominent figure in other mediums.”

“ _Media_ ,” Hugh muttered. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

Ghetsis ignored him. “Thus I believe that, on top of touring to perform music, the members of this band should all also compete in the Unova League Gym Challenge in each city they visit.”

Red was so done with trying to figure out what the actual fuck Team Plasma.

“Is that really wise?” Sycamore asked, glancing at N.

“I think it’s a good idea,” N said. Everybody stared at him, expecting more, but that was it.

“Fine,” Red said. “I’m game.”

“If Red’s in, fine,” Hugh sighed.

“Excellent. It will, of course, be a friendly competition,” Ghetsis said. “To see whom can connect best with the hearts of pokémon in order to win the most badges.”

Red didn’t know what Team Plasma was planning, but he was now certain it had something to do with N becoming Champion. He didn’t know if N even had any pokémon, but it hardly mattered; he’d become Champion once before with the help of his friends, and he could again. He’d defeat Team Plasma just as he’d defeated Team Rocket. And if he had to do it in pink leather pants, so be it.

As soon as he could, Red snuck away to find Gold. It was surprisingly easy; Gold’s band was working on music in the studio marked with his name. There were two other people there; one a scrawny brunet dressed in blue who looked weirdly familiar (but maybe that was because he kept looking at his phone, which looked a lot like N’s. Except he looked disgusted, not giggly, thank everything), the other a middle aged-man in an expensive black suit lined with just enough purple to make Red’s eye twitch.

“Ah, Red,” the middle-aged man greeted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I’m not sure why you are here.”

“Because we’re best bromeos!” Gold shouted excitedly.

“Friendship, I see…” The man stared intently at a stone pinned to his jacket.

“Steven!” Ruby hissed. “Not now!”

“Ah, yes, sorry,” the man said, lifting his gaze. “My name is Steven Stone. I was once the Champion of the Hoenn region, but I found it too difficult to maintain my duties and my true passion in life at the same time.”

“I understand,” Red said, partly to be polite, partly because he kinda did.

“He’s totally making it sound more dramatic than it was,” Ruby said, clicking his tongue. “He quit being Champion because my brutal boyfriend Sapphire totally kicked his ass and he wanted more time to collect rocks.”

“Stones are my hobby,” Steven explained.

“Right,” Red said rather than ‘what a freak’.

“Yeah but, what’s up?” Gold asked excitedly. It looked like he’d been tied to a chair from how he was leaning across the table. “What’s up, what’s up, what’s up?”

“I’m avoiding someone, but I didn’t want Elesa to see me sneak out, so.”

“Ohh I getcha,” Gold said. “You should help us write songs, your last song was so Ruby.”

“It was more Ruby than Ruby,” Wally said quietly.

“Hey, Wally?” Ruby called sweetly. When Wally looked at him, he held up his middle finger and said, still sweetly, “Sit it on this and spin, bitch.”

Wally didn’t reply, just raised his eyebrows.

“Sure, might as well,” Red said.

“You need to stop letting everybody who is avoiding someone write songs with us,” the nerdy Kalosian one told Gold. “I want to make art.”

“Yeah, chill,” Gold told him, before turning to Red. “Hey, hey, wanna hang out tonight too?”

“Sure,” Red replied, assuming there’d be alcohol.

There was. And it turned out writing songs with people other than N was fun — they had senses of humour, and enough dignity to not take jokes seriously. It looked like they had a good system; Gold would be blunt, X would be blunter, Ruby would be overwhelmingly poetic and then Wally would reel him back to something that wasn’t a pretentious mess. Joey talked about rattata. Red didn’t contribute much beyond synonyms, but he did better than the other guy who wasn’t in Gold’s band (who would suggest extremely depressing and angst-ridden lyrics with a total deadpan and somehow everybody else found it hilarious, especially Gold) and Steven Stone (who stared out the window sighing about stars being stones. Red was a little worried; he’d dropped out of school at ten, but even he knew that stars were not anything like stones).

At the end of the day, Red followed Gold and that other guy who wasn’t in Gold’s band back to Gold’s. Ruby, Wally, X and Youngster Joey weren’t allowed to follow because Steven Stone reminded them they were underage. Red wondered if the stone freak had any idea how old he was — he was pretty sure he was underage too. Maybe Steven Stone also realised it was stupid to prevent someone who’d saved the world at age eleven because the police were too tired from doing adult things like drinking.

“You’re not getting as drunk as you did last time, dude,” Gold lectured him on the way. “That was kinda scary. No offence.”

“My charizard’d eat me if I did,” Red said. “And Elesa too, probably, she had to buy me a new phone. Whatever.”

“What’d you do to your phone?” Gold asked, halfway between amusement and horror.

Red shrugged.

Gold laughed.

Gold wouldn’t let Red touch the spirits. He actually went as far as locking them in a safe and getting his typhlosion to guard it.

“We’re drinking beer, or wine, or maybe cider,” Gold declared. “Oi, Black, which one’s the most emo?”

“Whichever one’s darkest or most like blood,” the other guy replied, and just like that, Red recognised him.

“Oh, you’re in Blue’s band,” he said.

Black raised his eyebrows. “We have met.”

Red shrugged again, more pointedly.

“Seriously?” Gold asked as he compared the wine and beer. “I thought your bands had like, a feud going on.”

“I’m only making music. If that pisses Blue off, whatever,” Red replied.

“What about Green,” Black said. He didn’t ask. There was too much condescending knowledge for it to be a question.

“If Green wants to humiliate himself, good.”

“Green was a pretty cool Gym Leader,” Gold mused. “He didn’t stick to one type.”

Red blinked. “He was a Gym Leader?”

“Yeah, he took over the Viridian Gym for a few years. Nobody else’d do it, cos, uh, y’know… Team Rocket. There was this like, crisis about shutting down the Kanto League, apparently Johto’s not good enough for you losers. So Green ran the Gym for, I dunno, three years? Then he quit to do, I dunno, university maybe? Nerd stuff.”

“Right. Whatever,” Red said. He didn’t know what else he _could_ say. He hadn’t even thought about what’d happened to the Viridian Gym.

“It’s not him you’re avoiding, is it?” Gold asked.

Red shook his head. “This other guy in my band.”

“Oh, the one with the green hair and stupid look on his face?” Gold asked.

“N,” Black said. “His name’s N.”

“Stupid name for a stupid lookin’ guy,” Gold said.

“He’s a total idiot,” Red said. “He keeps calling me a symbol of oppression.”

Gold laughed. “Oh, man, does Team Plasma seriously think they’re being subtle?”

“Yep,” Red said. Black said it at the same time. Kinda weird.

Gold settled on wine _and_ beer, but couldn’t remember the rhyme for how to drink that combination properly, so he gave them all wine and beer mixed together in pints. It tasted awful, but it did its job. Red stopped thinking about how grumpy he was, how badly he wanted Green to notice him but also like him and at the same time stay away from him for being a bastard inspiring too many emotions at once, and soon after he remembered how much he hated Silver for stealing his father issues he stopped being so angry about that, too. All he felt was a buzzed blur of contentment, because Gold liked him, he liked Gold, and Black was okay. Prissy, but okay.

And maybe the buzz wasn’t actually as successful at blocking out his feelings as Red’d expected, because about halfway through his beer-wine nightmare combo he ended up complaining about coming down the mountain to find Green playing an acoustic guitar and not even paying attention to him.

“Why did everybody become musicians,” Red complained. “I don’t get it. Green’s so bad at music. He’s so good at everything else. I can’t. I can’t believe he was a Gym Leader. I can’t believe he actually did something about Team Rocket.”

“I dunno, I did it cos Silver did it,” Gold replied, ignoring the Green stuff because he was cool. “Silver did to keep Team Rocket so embarrassed they’d never try anything again. I think it’s working? Giovanni’s been outta prison for ages and he hasn’t done anything.”

“Giovanni should be in prison forever,” Red muttered bitterly.

Gold continued, “Ruby did it cos he was offered, same with Wally, Sapphire was offered too but she said no, Crystal too, actually. And Blue did movies for a while. Oh, man, if you wanna laugh, you should see Blue trying to act. You’d think someone who spent that long as a thief would be a little bit competent, but no. It’s all just —” Gold gave an exaggerated version of Blue’s ‘sexy pout’. “X says there was some evil team trying to take over Kalos called Team Flare but I’m pretty sure he’s lying to fit in. I don’t remember hearing anything about that at all.”

“It happened,” Black said. “I met the leader of Team Flare on tour once. He said he liked that song of ours, about trying so hard and getting so far, but in the end, it doesn’t even matter. Cheren had a crush on him for a while because of that. Then he found out he’d actually tried to destroy the world and decided he loved him.”

Gold cracked up completely for at least five minutes, managing a few ‘oh my god’s and ‘how is Cheren even _real_ ’.

“Sycamore used to date him, actually,” Black recalled. “That’s why he went into music management.”

Red went into the conversation not liking Sycamore, and in an instant, felt that dislike turn into hatred.

Gold wiped the tears from his eyes and continued, “Uhh, Platinum, right, she like, actually wants to be a real journalist? But they _want_ all us Dex Holders in this whole industry. Cos we make a fortune. So she’s sulking about all that, actually, and Diamond and Pearl are like, comedy actors. Comedians. Whatever.” Grinning, he threw an arm around Black’s shoulders before saying, “And this guy skipped being a Trainer and went straight for being a professional emo at fourteen!”

“A terrible mistake,” Black said.

“I dunno, you guys got in on actual talent,” Gold replied.

“You’re not that bad.”

“Suck-up.”

“Green sucks, though,” Red insisted.

“Oh yeah,” Gold laughed. “Elesa wouldn’t even sign him. And she took _Joey_.”

“He should leave it to me,” Red added. “I’m good at it. Music’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” Gold agreed.

Black didn’t say anything, which was good, it let the conversation fizzle out and let Red show off his pokémon for a few hours. Gold, too. They didn’t have a battle in the end, but if they did, they’d probably destroy Gold’s place.

At midnight, Red headed back to his hotel. He wasn’t too drunk to walk, just like he’d promised, but he couldn’t walk very fast. That turned out to be for the best; Gold sent him a text saying he’d left his pokémon behind.

“How do you even manage to do that holy shit,” it concluded. Red agreed with that sentiment, staggered around and started to walk back to Gold’s.

All of a sudden, two figures in black pulled him down an alleyway.

“Stop struggling, we’re not hurting you,” one of his kidnappers hissed.

“You _are_!” Red shouted.

“Shut up, shut up, cover his mouth, gag him, quickly!”

They not only gagged him but blindfolded him too. Red had never been kidnapped, gagged, or even blindfolded before so he had no idea what to do except flail around like a level 5 magikarp.

Red kicked one in the ribs as they dropped him on a hard, concrete floor. Their shout of pain echoed. Probably a warehouse, Red concluded. Which meant Team Plasma had probably kidnapped him.

“You fucking brat! I should —!”

“Wait,” another interrupted. “The boss’ll get pissed if we treat him badly, remember?”

“Urghhhhh. Why is he like that.”

They grabbed Red again. He tried kicking and punching, but they pinned his limbs too well. They carried him for a few steps, then sat him in a chair. Red was stunned for a moment. Then he felt something being coiled tightly around his torso, pinning his arms to his side, and on his legs, pinning them to the chair… A rope. They were tying him to the chair, in a warehouse.

Team Plasma had clearly not learned from Team Rocket’s mistakes.

“What are you doing?” a new voice asked.

A chill went down Red’s spine.

“Boss,” one of the grunts gasped. “We were just — we got him, like you asked.”

“I said _invite_ him, not _kidnap_ him.”

“Sorry, boss. It’s just, it’s like old times, y’know?”

Footsteps approached. “Yes, I know.” Hands on his jaw. First they removed the gag, before reaching up and pulling off the blindfold. Red didn’t want to look, but he had to. He had to look at the man’s olive skin, his cold grey eyes, his slicked back black hair, his smug smirk. On pure instinct, he glared.

“Hello Red,” Giovanni said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Red gritted his teeth.

“Have you been drinking?” Giovanni asked. He tutted. “I’m very disappointed. I was rather hoping you would still be the incorruptible boy who crippled my organisation and made me realise the errors of my ways.”

“Why’m I tied up?” Red demanded.

“I do apologise for that, Red,” Giovanni said pleasantly. “I suppose my associates got caught up in old times, isn’t that right, boys?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Giovanni glared at them. “Apologise to Red, boys.”

“We’re very sorry,” the one he’d kicked said flatly.

“There’s no apology for what we’ve done, Mr Red.”

“I have a surname, you know,” Red muttered.

“Oh, but you don’t need to use it, you’re so iconic, just like Prince and Madonna,” Giovanni said. “Who could have guessed you’d become so famous simply for doing the right thing when nobody else would, hm?”

Red hated talking to Giovanni so much. “What do you want?”

“Oh, come now Red. You’re the one who called me.”

Red stared. “What.”

Giovanni pulled a phone from his pocket. It was too out-dated to be allowed in Nimbasa, but it still worked. Giovanni dialled a number, then held it up as a voice mail message played. Red was horrified to hear his own voice.

_“Green, I hope you’re sorry cos I miss you. And, there’s all this bullshit, with Team Plasma and Reshiram, I don’t even know what Reshiram is, but my co-singer-dude is, like, their king. Why a king? Giovanni was never a king. Or any of the other fuckwits I heard about, like, Cyrus and… those Hoenn losers. I’m so fuckin’ sick of this, why can’t people stop abusing pokémon, Green? Fuck you, actually, you were shit to your pokémon too. Fuckin’… the fuck did you do to your raticate? Did you kill it? It just fuckin’ disappeared? What did you do to your raticate? Did you just dump it in the PC? You’re an asshole. I miss you. Fuck you.”_

Red fought the urge to hang his head or groan in embarrassment.

Giovanni tucked his phone away. “Alcoholism isn’t a very good approach to your problems, Red.”

“Go to hell,” Red growled. His conversation with Green made so much more sense. Green hadn’t know. Green hadn’t even heard it. Red hadn’t even called him. Why did he even keep Giovanni’s number?

“Actually, I have a proposal for you,” Giovanni said. “Are you aware of Team Plasma?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Red groaned. “You just heard me saying —”

Giovanni chuckled. “Yes. But are you aware of their true goals?”

“Liberating pokémon,” Red replied. “Are you gonna untie me?”

Ignoring the question, Giovanni said, “That is only their cover. It’s an ambitious one; keeping it simple would be much better.”

“That’s right, boss,” one grunt said.

“Yeah, like with a Gym,” the other agreed.

Red rolled his eyes. “Their leader’s an idiot, even worse than _you_ actually, he’s not faking. It’s pokémon liberation. He’s that stupid.”

“Do you mean the other pretty boy in your band?” Giovanni asked.

Red nodded.

“He’s not their leader, he’s a puppet,” Giovanni dismissed. “No, their real leader is his father.”

Red wasn’t even surprised.

“It’s all quite obvious when you look at his credit card records,” Giovanni said, like Red had asked. “Not that his manner isn’t obvious.”

“How do you even know him,” Red said. “How are you not in prison.”

“Ah, personal questions, how rude you’ve become.”

“That’s not personal,” Red retorted. “Personal’d be ‘What’d you do to piss Silver off so much’.”

The smirk twisted into an angry scowl. “Silver will forgive me soon enough.”

“So, what, you’re playing good to try and make Silver love you again, even though Silver’s totally faking it just to impress some boy?”

“You’re still so simplistic,” Giovanni hissed. “You fail the insight to have even a basic understanding of anything beyond your childish mind — ah, but of course, that’s what’s charming about you. Of course.”

“Of course,” Red echoed.

Giovanni sighed irritably. “We want the same thing, Red, and you have access to their figurehead in ways I do not. We should work together.”

“You tried to kill my charizard,” Red said flatly.

“And that is the most personally antagonising thing I have ever done to you. Don’t act like such a victim of my regime.”

Red’s eye twitched.

“Red, for the greater good, all you have to do is get over yourself,” Giovanni said. He looked and sounded so much like Silver in that moment. It was a little horrific after hanging out with Gold all day.

“Fine,” Red said. “I don’t trust you, though. I’m keeping you in check too.”

“You have every right to,” Giovanni said. He clicked his fingers. “Boys, untie our new friend.”

The grunts begrudgingly did so, muttering about ‘that fucking kid’ the whole time. Red stood up a bit too quickly and almost fell over.

“I’d like you to tell me about your upcoming tour,” Giovanni said. “It would give some insight into Team Plasma’s plans.”

Red didn’t answer. It was a little tough to accept working with his old enemy, even with the number of times Giovanni had promised to dedicate his life to protecting and studying pokémon rather than hurting and exploiting them. Especially when Team Rocket had come back only two years later. Wouldn’t Giovanni benefit from the silencing of a pokémon rights group?

“If you need any bonus incentive, I do have bargaining tools,” Giovanni chuckled.

“When has that ever worked on me,” Red said flatly.

“Never, but I have something far better this time,” Giovanni replied. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a photo. Red immediately recognised the person in it, but Giovanni still handed it to him. Red accepted it with shaking hands, eyes blurring too much to take in many details of his father’s face. “I know precisely where your father is, Red.”

Red dropped the photo. “I don’t care,” he lied. “That’s a terrible bargaining tool. You don’t understand me at all.”

“Considering my own track record as a father, that is a fair assessment,” Giovanni replied. But he was smirking. “Ah well. I’ll figure out your price yet, Red.”

“I only wanna keep pokémon safe,” Red muttered.

“Then I don’t need to bargain, but rather educate you about Team Plasma’s activities, hm?”

Red shook his head. “I know they’re idiots and they’re awful for pokémon. So I’ll — I’ll tell you. Whatever. It’s not gonna hurt, it’s not like you can show your face in public after all of Silver’s songs.”

“All too true,” Giovanni said solemnly. He held out a hand to Red. “Now, come on. We should go somewhere more comfortable. There, you can tell me about your tour plans.”

Red brushed past Giovanni’s hand. Working with him didn’t mean he’d have to like him. He just hoped Green never found out who Red’s latest associate was.


	8. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell has frozen over; Nickelback has a number one hit, and it's as inescapable as Team Plasma's bullshit.

Black woke up to the sound of White screaming. Panicking, he tried to run to her, but ended up crashing to the ground, tangled in his blankets. Swearing, he struggled free, yanked the door open and ran out to the kitchen.

“What is it?!” he cried.

White pointed at her laptop, sitting on the counter. Black leant closer. Her finger rested next to the headline of an entertainment news site.

_NEW NICKELBACK SONG HITS NO. 1_

“Seriously?” Black groaned. “I thought something seriously wrong had happened.”

“I know,” White laughed. “Though… the first new Nickelback song in two years, immediately hitting number one the day it’s released… that’s a pretty Hell-must’ve-frozen-over scenario, isn’t it?”

Irritated, Black shrugged. “Maybe they got good.”

White snorted. “Oh, come _on_ , Black.”

Rolling his eyes, Black turned to get breakfast. He’d felt pretty constantly nauseous since Hugh asked him to spy on N, so he went for toast. After he put the bread in the toaster, he retrieved his phone. 53 new messages from N.

“Ooh, is it your _boooyfriend_ again?” White teased.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Black groaned. He quickly scanned the messages. They were all excited texts about various wild pokémon N had seen, including selfies with them.

‘Looks like you had fun,’ Black texted back. Then he added: ‘Good morning!’ just in case N had learned anything about sarcasm. Red seemed very sarcastic.

He was glad they were restricted to texts; it was much easier to feign excitement. Though, the N who sent excited messages about pokémon from sheer love of them was much more appealing than the N who ranted about how every human ever was Hitler in elevators while popping his gum.

“You came back pretty late last night,” White hinted.

“No,” Black cried. “No. I was hanging out with _Gold_. And _Red_.”

“Ohh, so you’re using the Plasma freak to get to Red, huh?” White nodded thoughtfully. “Nice.”

“No!” Black cried, louder. “I’m — I’m just —” Black yelped as his phone started to ring. He half-dropped it, half-threw it away, swore, tried to catch it, only for White to effortlessly snatch it from the air.

“Who’s H?” White asked. “Is there some alphabet cult now? Or, wait — alphabet _whore house_?”

Black snatched the phone back and answered it as he walked towards the hall. “Hello?”

“Got anything to tell me?” Hugh asked.

Black shook his head, remembered it was a phone, and clarified, “Not really. He takes a lot of selfies with pokémon? Then texts them to me? We really only text.”

“Forward them to me,” Hugh sternly commanded. “I want copies of your conversations. Daily.”

“He sent me 53 messages since eight last night,” Black protested quietly, aware of White’s attempts to eavesdrop.

“This is important,” Hugh growled. “We need to understand his psyche if we’re going to bring down his organisation.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Black sighed. “He keeps saying he wants to ride the Ferris wheel with me.”

“Go as soon as you can,” Hugh ordered. “I’ll get another Interpol agent to follow. You’ll be safe.”

“Okay,” Black said. “Um, that might not be until next week, we’ve got a lot of promo stuff to do and these photoshoots and —”

“I understand, I am playing the same tedious musician game,” Hugh replied. He muttered, clearly to himself, “Knew doing music in high school would backfire some day” before hanging up.

As Black walked back into the kitchen, White quickly turned to her laptop and hit the spacebar. A few chords of acoustic guitar played before the Nickelback guy started to mumble in some attempt at mock-rock, “ _Look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh_.”

“Urgh,” White groaned, hitting the mute button. “I can’t even stand it ironically.”

N texted Black four more times while he walked to work. Only one was a selfie, with a pidove. Black couldn’t help wondering how the hell N had managed to approach a city pidove, let alone get it to sit so calmly on his shoulder and look right at the camera. Maybe N really could speak to pokémon.

In full honesty, Black didn’t need to work that day. Alder was pretty good at getting them lax weekends, and Black always took full advantage of Alder’s soft-spot if it meant avoiding eyeliner and skinny jeans. In even fuller honesty, he was doing it only to avoid N. He kept telling himself it was because N was so annoying and not that he was starting to find some aspects of N’s behaviour kind of a little bit cute. He kept _smiling at the selfies_ , for fuck’s sake. And at least at work he could ask Cheren to tell him not to smile because it wasn’t emo.

Luckily, there was a huge distraction in the form of Blue declaring war on Nickelback.

“I can’t believe those talentless hacks took number one from us!” she shouted the second she saw Black.

“When’s talent ever had anything to do with selling,” Black said.

“When you’re pissed off and clutching at straws and the only one that’s gonna work is the moral high ground!”

At least Blue was being honest.

She dragged Black to their studio. Cheren was sitting at the table, glaring across at Green, who was tied to his chair and sleeping.

“HEY!” Blue shouted, throwing her handbag on the table. Green jolted awake. “You’re here to keep me reminded of the Red threat!”

“Dude, I’ve been partying literally all night,” Green groaned.

“What reason can you possibly have to party in a world where Nickelback’s got a number one single, huh?!”

“I don’t see why we need to act like Nickelback is a threat,” Cheren said. “They’re terrible, but so are most mainstream musicians. The worst thing is their bland, repetitive sound and general personas. But it’s all for attention. Some people will do anything for attention. It’s best to ignore them.”

Black tried really hard not to deadpan stare at Cheren or laugh. He ended up having to walk to the window and stare down at the street to distract himself.

“Are you coming up with some brilliant plan?” Blue demanded.

“No, I agree with Cheren,” Black replied, turning back to them.

“Maybe you’re just not as _good_ as Nickelback,” Green said.

Blue punched him in the face.

“Shit! What the fuck!” Green cried.

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to _anyone_ , and you’re a pathetic fuckwit who insults people all the time to cover up your own insecurities because _nobody likes you_!” Blue shouted.

“Nobody likes you either,” Green snarled. “You’ve got no class, no tastes — you’re only here because of _Silver_ , and you had to use _me_ to get to number one in the first place, didn’t you?”

“I grew up around Team Rocket, you spoiled fuckwit, I know how to get away with murder,” Blue hissed. “Don’t. Test. Me.”

“You know, I don’t think Silver ever got a number one, has he?” Cheren interrupted.

“No, he’s too alternative,” Black quickly supplied, cautiously approaching. “It’s not that much of a big deal what we’re charting so long as our fans are satisfied, right?”

“Yeah,” Cheren agreed in the same moment Blue laughed mirthless and rolled her eyes. “We’re still the top emo band,” he said loudly over her.

“We’re not _really_ emo, we’re totally pop,” Blue said.

Cheren looked hurt to his core.

“Shut up,” Black said. “You need to stop letting your childish ego and grudges control _everything_. Get some damn professionalism.”

Blue’s eyes narrowed.

“Can somebody fucking untie me?” Green grumbled.

Black reached over and easily undid the knot. Green pulled himself free and staggered exaggeratedly to his feet. Black doubted Green’d been drunk in his life, but he seemed to be convincing Blue, who groaned something about boozers.

“I hate it when you’re pissed at me,” Green said to Blue. “I hate it when Red’s pissed at me, but at least then he’s feeling _something_ about me. You’re just terrifying when you’re pissed.”

“You should be scared of me,” Blue said.

Green dropped a hand to her shoulder. He was much braver than Black had ever imagined. He stared deep into her eyes and said, “It’s like Nickelback says: ‘ _If everyone cared and nobody cried, if everyone loved and nobody lied, if everyone shared and swallowed their pride, then we’d see the day when nobody died_ ’.”

Blue blinked. “What… what does that even mean…?”

“I don’t know,” Green replied.

Blue rolled her eyes. “How the hell am I threatened by these losers? They’re so fucking stupid.”

“They’re less stupid than they used to be.”

Blue raised her eyebrows. She asked slowly, hate accentuating every syllable, “Green, do you actually like _Nickelback_?”

“No. Gramps does.”

Blue gagged with disgust.

For all his being an asshole, Black was astounded at how casually Green had bounced back from Team Rocket-based death threats and calmed Blue the fuck down.

“You know what you should do?” Green started.

“Kill Nickelback?”

“You should take a day off,” Green concluded. “You should go see Red.”

“Maybe,” Blue muttered.

“He’s gone full diva,” Green added. “Last time I saw him he was wearing pink leather pants. Time before that he kept ranting about hide and seek. I think he’s actually insane now.”

“Sounds funny,” Blue said. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

With that, she grabbed her handbag and left.

“You’re all sociopaths,” Cheren said the moment the door closed behind her.

Green snorted. “We’re just a couple of animals.”

“No, I really think you need therapy,” Cheren said. _Cheren_ said.

“Whatever, nerdling,” Green said as he left.

“They totally need therapy,” Black agreed.

He’d missed five texts from N during the conversation. He felt disappointed it wasn’t more. Dammit.

Cheren pulled out his phone. “So, what’s this song that’s such a big deal…?”

Black shrugged.

“Found it,” Cheren said. His phone started playing, ‘ _Look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh_.’ Cheren’s lip curled and it went silent. “Repulsive.” He held his phone out between a finger and thumb. “I think I need a new phone now.”

Rolling his eyes, Black snatched it. He hit play again as Cheren hissed in exaggerated agony. The song crooned, ‘ _How’d our eyes get so red? And what the hell’s on Joey’s head?_ ’

*

‘ _And this is where I grew up. I think the present owner fixed it up._ ’

Red had been having a perfectly good morning, refusing to get out of bed and face the world because he knew some Rocket Grunts would be following his every move and he’d have to pretend not to notice and also not kick their arses. Then Blue unceremoniously broke into his hotel room from the window (probably just to emphasise how incapable of escape he was) and started making him listen to some whiny rock music.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Red asked.

“We’re friends, friends hang out,” Blue replied.

Red seriously doubted he and Blue had ever really been friends, but she’d ruin his life in some subtle and sneaky way if he said that. And Red really didn’t need help with that. Plus she already had Green’s life hostage, and Red didn’t _really_ want to see Green’s life ruined.

Blue paused the song anyway. It wasn’t an act of mercy. Blue didn’t do mercy. Red braced himself as best he could in bed, in his pyjamas.

“Green says you’re actually insane now,” she said.

“Did he write that song?” Red asked. “Is that why you made me listen to it?”

“Oh, god no,” Blue gasped. “Even Green wouldn’t write something that terrible.”

“…yes he would.”

Blue shook her head. “You’re out of touch with reality. And your best friend. That happens, when you live on a mountain for eighty-six months.”

“How do _you_ know how long it was?” Red asked suspiciously.

Blue sighed loudly. “Because we’re _friends_.”

“You didn’t know how long it’d been last time you visited the mountain,” Red recalled. “You only came cos you were dating Yellow.”

“No, because we’re _friends_ ,” Blue insisted.

“I dunno where Yellow is but we’re friends,” Red said.

“She’s acting in some movie thing.”

“And she dumped you,” Red recalled.

“That was like, three years ago. Get over it.”

Red shrugged. “I just wanna know who told you I was up the mountain for that long.”

“Your mum?” Blue suggested.

“She wouldn’t’ve counted.”

“Your _dad_ then.”

Red refused to let Blue have the satisfaction of pissing him off. He forced himself not to tense, and instead muttered, “That’s more believable. He is literally the devil. You’d get along well.”

Blue laughed. “Wow, you _have_ gotten dramatic.”

Red had no idea what she meant.

“Wanna go get manicures?” Blue asked.

“I gotta go to some photo shoot.”

“You’ll hate the photo shoot, but you’ll love my beauty parlour,” Blue informed him, like he hadn’t been to both before. “They do matching manipedis for Trainers and their pokémon.”

“Fine.”

Around the time their nails were being buffed (Pika looked horrified at how much he was enjoying it), Blue had run out of topics for Red to half-listen to and was ranting about how Green had offensively liked some band she didn’t like.

“— I mean, can you ever imagine _Professor Oak_ listening to Nickelback?”

Red shrugged. And realised there were only two people who could’ve told Blue how long he’d been up the mountain, because there were only two people who had any reason to fixate on Red like that: Professor Oak (for the sake of his PokéDex) and Green. And the professor hadn’t said anything to suggest he’d been counting.

It had to be Green.

“When’d Green tell you how long I was up the mountain?” Red demanded.

Blue rolled her eyes. “I can _count_ , you know. Maybe I didn’t at the time, but I _know_ my twelve times table, Red. We learned it together in second grade, remember?”

But Red knew she was lying. Not about being able to count or anything, just because he new she wouldn’t’ve bothered. Her brain was too full of schemes.

“Why’d he pretend he didn’t know how long I was gone if he knew?”

“I think you’re being paranoid,” Blue sing-songed sinisterly.

Red stared at her. He did his best not to convey any emotion at all. It’d always made Blue freak out and drop the act when they were kids. Usually with some shout about Red being almost as creepy as his ex-movie star dad before they found out Red’s ex-movie star dad was also a deadbeat abandoning dad.

“Oh, _fine_ , yeah, he mentioned it,” Blue cried. “He mentioned it a _lot_. Do you two _ever_ shut up about each other? And before, he said this really fucked up thing, he was there all ‘I don’t care if Red’s pissed at me because at least he’s feeling something for me for a change’ — what the hell is that?!”

Red blinked his stupor away. Blue kept ranting.

“And I know why _you’re_ fucked up, everybody does, your dad and then Team Rocket and _oh yeah, your dad_ , but even with all that you _totally_ go too far, like what you did to Green with that music video was just pathetic. Even I think it’s petty. And then Green’s just so ‘wah why doesn’t anybody like me’ when being a dick all the time and — urgh!” She shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “Can you two like, not be the melodramatic centre of everything for a change so I can be the emo pop princess of the world? Just go get married and live up the mountain. Thanks.”

“Maybe later,” Red replied. “I’ve gotta save the world first.”

“ _Again_?” Blue moaned.

“Sorry.”

“Is it Team Rocket?” she asked. “I heard something about you being incognito to stop Team Rocket from doing something.”

“I made that up,” Red admitted. “I only wanted to piss Green off. Then my back-up singer just had to be the leader of a cult.”

“C’est la vie,” Blue sighed. “Lemme know if I can help.”

Red considered this. He couldn’t just tell Blue he was working with Giovanni. Blue would tell Silver then they’d kill him together with their running-away-together-to-join-Team-Rocket-just-like-Silver’s-daddy learned criminal skills combined with Silver’s so-called daddy issues. He thought about N, the constant texting he did lately, and Blue’s talent for meddling and life-ruining…

“Think you can find out who my back-up singer’s dating?” Red wondered.

“All too easily,” Blue replied. She pulled out her phone, but hit the wrong button or something; that whiny rock song from before started playing again.

‘ _I never knew we went without. The second floor’s good for sneakin’ out._ ’

*

‘ _And this is where I went to school. Most of the time had better things to do_.’

Black didn’t know _who_ had replaced the elevator music with Nickelback’s new song, but he hated them. Somehow, it seemed to make the elevator run slower. The elevator running slower meant a higher chance of running into N or Hugh. Running into N or Hugh meant having to accept N’s invitation to go on a Ferris wheel the next day instead of pretending he’d somehow missed the text about that.

Of course as soon as Black left the elevator, he ran quite literally into N. Of course.

“Sorry,” Black said quickly, trying to get as far away from N’s touch as possible. “Sorry. I didn’t — sorry.”

“It’s fine,” N said. “It is you, after all.”

God dammit why did he always treat Black like he was special (other than the whole insane thing). “You’re probably in a hurry, so…” Black stepped aside so N could access the elevator.

“Actually, I was going to see you,” N said.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“You have the afternoon off,” N continued.

“How, how do you know that?”

“I checked your schedule,” he said shamelessly, like that wasn’t stalking.

“Wanna go ride the Ferris wheel?” Black asked before N could. He had to retain some illusion of control.

N’s eyes lit up. Fuck. “Yes,” he gasped.

“Let’s go then,” Black said. Go and get it over with.

As they walked to the amusement park, Black sent Hugh a bitchy text about how he was following his precious orders and the fate of the world had really better be worth a humiliating date with a creepy stalker who took the most adorable selfies ever and kept pausing every time they saw a pokémon to talk to it, in its own language (so N said) then insisted it was odd when each one ‘said’ it loved its Trainer. Hugh told him to record everything, so Black set his phone to record and hoped it’d be good enough for the master spy-slash-popstar.

“They have a form of Stockholm Syndrome and do not even know it,” N insisted. “Have you heard of the so-called cycles of abuse?”

“Yes,” Black replied sceptically. “I _am_ in an emo band.”

“You shouldn’t ridicule such things with the ‘emo’ association,” N said. He was right, and it pissed Black off. “Do you not see how this has created what we now call ‘pokémon battles’?

“No, not really…”

N sighed, disappointed. “Oh well. There is hope for you yet.”

If he didn’t have the whole stopping Team Plasma thing to worry about, Black would’ve asked N if he’d ever heard of delusions. Particular of grandeur. But he did, so instead he loudly said, “There’s the amusement park, just across the street there.”

“Oh, good,” N said. “There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

N refused to speak again until they were on the Ferris wheel.

“Aren’t Ferris wheels incredible?” he asked, popping his gum. “The circular motions… the balance… it’s an elegant collection of equations.”

“Not as elegant as emo,” Black said.

“I hope that is a joke,” N said. “If it is, you should make them funnier.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, bad call.”

N stared at him for an extremely unnerving minute. Black was so unnerved he actually counted the seconds. Then N brushed his hair back slightly and asked, “Are you aware of Team Plasma’s true purpose?”

“What’s Team Plasma?” Black feigned.

N looked pissed all of sudden. “Don’t you watch my interviews?”

“I might’ve missed one?”

N glared. “There’s only _been_ one.”

“Oh.”

Black’s phone buzzed. He quickly glanced at it with a mumbled apology. There was a single text from an unknown sender that read ‘That’s not how you flirt, Emo King!!!!’

Surely Cheren was the emo king.

“Sorry,” Black said again, tucking it away. He glanced around the gondola, feigning an attempt at recollection. He couldn’t see any recording or listening devices… Hugh had promised an Interpol agent would be monitoring, but Black hadn’t expected that to translate to ‘listening in and texting you flirting tips’. “Is it the organisation your dad’s involved with? I think you said something to Roxy about it not being as bad as they say?”

N looked content again. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And you’re a part of it?”

N smirked. “Of sorts.”

“What does that mean?” Black asked. He felt an eerie sense of security knowing they were being watched. “You’re their public face?”

“I am their king,” N snapped, like he was offended. “I’m the king of Team Plasma.”

“Huh.” Black back. “So… so what’s that mean?”

“It means I run Team Plasma,” N said. “Ghetsis is a fool who thinks he’s calling the shots, who means to use me as a figurehead, I’m sure that was the inspiration behind this ridiculous pop star idea of his, but I am the King. I am the one who will unleash Zekrom and become the Hero of Ideals. Then Zekrom and I will create an ideal world where pokémon no longer live under the tyranny of humans, and _you_ …”

N looked at Black with hungry eyes. Black didn’t feel secure any more.

“…you will be my co-king.”

Black’s jaw dropped. _Well_ , he thought, the words echoing in the blank corners of his mind, _at least he didn’t say queen_.

“U-uh.” Black glanced at his phone, hoping there’d be a message. Nothing. “I… I… what.”

“You are the Hero of Truth,” N said, leaning closer. Black tried to lean back but his back was already pressed against the glass. “You can try to hide it from the world, perhaps even yourself, with this celebrity game, the whiny music, the eyeliner, but it is abundantly clear regardless.” He paused for a moment then added in just as heavy and mystical a tone, “But you should keep the tight pants. If I’m impressed by them I’m sure Reshiram will be too.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Black groaned before he could stop himself.

N’s eyes narrowed again. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Black cried. “I can’t be the Hero of Truth! I’m a liar emo!”

“Your occupation does not prevent your destiny,” N said.

Black whined. “But, but, but! I don’t even know what Team Plasma’s really for, and you’re — you want me to be co-king?!”

“I told you, we’re going to liberate pokémon,” N sighed. “I understand you’re most likely shocked, but don’t be an idiot at the same time.” He popped his gum.

“Liberate them from _what_?” Black demanded.

“This society that imprisons them in those horrible devices that erase their will, forcing them to battle for the amusement of barbarians,” N growled. “We need to save pokémon from this world before they can truly become perfect as they are meant to be.”

Black understood what N was saying. He understood the concept theoretically. He did not understand how it connected to reality. It was like N had watched some Young Adult dystopian movie and decided it was reality. Black struggled for a few moments to force his mouth and tongue to move in the appropriate combination to articulate sound though he didn’t know what to say. When he finally managed it, all that came out was, “ _Fucking… **what**_?!”

N looked pissed off. But he spoke with an unsettling calm, an absolute conviction in his words that made it difficult not to believe them despite their not making any sense. “It doesn't matter if you don’t understand yet. You will come to understand. As we speak, Ghetsis is negotiating for us to tour together. We will spend a lot of time together. You’ll realise what is true, as is your nature, and help me to create an ideal world.”

Because there was mercy in the world, Black didn’t have to respond. They reached the end of the ride, and he quickly scrambled out of the gondola.

“I need to think,” he announced, barely looking at N. “I — I need to think. Okay?”

“Okay,” N said. “I’d hoped you would.”

He was so convinced in the reality of his delusions it was terrifying.

Black walked out of the park as quickly as he could. As soon as he was out of N’s sights, he started to run. Fuck Interpol. Fuck helping stop Team Plasma. Black was apparently at the core of N’s delusions now, and Black was certain that if he refused N he’d end up in some horrible situation or dead. And if he really wanted to, Black could further justify his aversion to himself by thinking he was probably essential to N’s plans by now. N sounded like he really needed him.

No, not needed. Wanted.

Black came to a stop in a park. A regular, plant-y park with children and pokémon playing. The children looked happy. The pokémon looked happy. How could N say they needed liberating?

But what would Black know? He’d never had a pokémon. He’d never even been friends with one.

Still. He had eyes. He’d paid attention to the world of pokémon and their Trainers for so long, how could Black not have noticed the sincere mutual enjoyment going on? And even with contests — hadn’t Ruby temporarily given up contests because his pokémon _wanted_ to battle? It couldn’t have been a publicity stunt; Ruby looked too irritated the whole time.

Black didn’t want to go on tour with N. He didn’t even want to be in music. He’d wanted to be a Trainer his entire life, but he’d gotten dragged along with Cheren and White’s dreams as usual, so now here he was, eighteen years old and nowhere near his original goals. He was doing the same crap he’d been doing at fourteen because he was too afraid to tell Cheren to shove it — or was it because he was too afraid he’d fail as a Trainer? Because he was good at music, regardless of his interest, and Black had no idea how he’d fare as a Trainer. It was easy to put off his dreams, easy to blame Cheren and White for that, easy to passively keep on walking down an easy road lined with money and adoration for minimal effort. It was easy to pat the occasional pokémon with longing and leave it at that.

But N was threatening to take it all away. If N got what he wanted, and he was certain he would (he’d probably do anything to get it), Black would never get to do anything meaningful with pokémon.

Black had to get out. Now.

He pulled out his phone, ignored the messages from Hugh and his co-spy and scrolled through his contacts until he found Cheren. He hit call. It felt as though somebody else, someone braver and wiser, was controlling his body as he calmly held the phone to his ear and asked, “Where are you?”

“Studio,” Cheren replied. “Why? What’s with that tone?”

“I’ll explain in person,” Black said, hanging up before Cheren could protest.

He barely thought on the way to the studio except about how he was barely thinking. Cheren was waiting, perched tensely at the conference table, hands clenched around each other.

“There you are,” he said, rising to his feet. “What happened?”

Black tried to think of a nice way to phrase it, but there wasn’t one. “I have to quit.”

Cheren froze. Black pre-emptively cringed, but Cheren didn’t move. He just kept staring.

“I, I know it’s not the best time but I really, really have to quit.”

Cheren finally settled into a glare. It was full of all the loathing Black had ever anticipated as Cheren hissed, “Like sister, like brother.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Black insisted. He started to panic. “I mean, okay, not gonna lie, doing something different for a while sounds nice but I mean not at all like music at all! But that’s not what this is about either, it’s about —”

“If it’s not about that, why are you telling me that?” Cheren interrupted icily.

Black didn’t know. He struggled to find words to say, but there was nothing in his mind except ‘Cheren I think he’s gonna kill me’ which wasn’t even true.

“I thought so,” Cheren said. “If you’re going to abandon me, at least admit that’s what you’re doing.”

Black winced. “I guess that kinda is what I’m doing.”

“Then I don’t care about your reason, and I definitely don’t care about you. And I’d imagine the feeling’s mutual.”

“The only fucking reason I’ve ever been in any of these stupid bands is for you!” Black snapped. “I haven’t wasted years of my life making you happy for you to just decide I hate you cos I have to quit for my own fucking safety!”

“Wasted your life?! Fuck you!” Cheren shouted. “Nothing we’ve done is a waste of anything! And it’s not my fault you dunno how to live your own fucking life, dickweed!”

It was true. Even in the middle of the fight, of hating Cheren for not fucking listening and focusing on bullshit over Black’s safety, Black knew it was true. So all he had left to shout back was: “Emo’s fucking _stupid_!”

Cheren threw his phone. Black ducked just in time. As it hit the wall, Nickelback started to play.

‘ _Criminal record says I broke in twice, I must have done it half a dozen times._ ’

“Get out,” Cheren hissed.

“As if I wanna stay,” Black growled.

Black slammed the door as hard as he could on the way out. The sound wasn’t satisfactory enough. He leant against the door, catching his breath, pissed at how selfish Cheren was, with his stupid career-based priorities and unwillingness to even listen to Black’s problem and maybe convince him he wasn’t gonna be killed or kidnapped. He was also pretty pissed at himself for giving up so easily. He hadn’t really thought about a minute ago when it really counted, but all he’d wanted was to make Cheren hurt too. Because he was a dickweed.

For a second as he started to walk away, Black swore he could hear Cheren sob. But it was quickly drowned out by Nickelback’s loud, ‘ _Every memory of looking out the back door, I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor, it’s hard to say it, time to say it, goodbye, goodbye_.’

*

‘ _Every memory of walking out the front door, I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for. It’s hard to say it, time to say it, goodbye, goodbye._ ’

Red hadn’t expected to hear that fucking song again as he walked into Giovanni’s abandoned warehouse of a new HQ. When he turned the corner, he saw Giovanni standing passively before someone tied to a chair. His two grunts (who were wearing industrial earmuffs) each held a speaker aimed directly at the sides of their victim’s hood head.

“What the fuck’re you doing,” Red demanded.

“Ah, Red,” Giovanni said pleasantly. He made a gesture and the Nickelback was paused. The hooded figure sobbed in relief. “If you’d been on time, you would have been properly briefed.”

Red looked closely at the person tied to the chair. They were wearing a very odd, almost knight-like outfit with pale blue-grey t-shirt hoodies, gloves and shoes, black full-length underclothes, and topping it all off, a white surcoat emblazoned with a P for Plasma on a shield. Red could barely see their face, even when they turned to look at him, but they had very bright orange hair and very obviously were pleading silently with him.

“Our friend here was being reluctant to answer my questions,” Giovanni drawled. “Naturally, I decided to be persuasive.”

“Don’t torture them,” Red ordered. “I don’t care if they’re a Plasma Grunt or whatever. Don’t torture them.”

Giovanni raised his eyebrows. “Well well Red. What would your father say?”

“Like I care.”

“You should try to honour your parents,” Giovanni said. “Don’t be so dismissive of their work.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s hardly fair to call playing music torture, Red,” Giovanni continued, unaffected. “Why, this band is —”

“Don’t even try it,” Red interrupted. “You _just said_ you were ‘persuading’ them and I _know_ what that means.”

“Congratulations on possessing a basic vocabulary. Considering your time on that mountain, it’s quite admirable.”

Red grabbed Charizard’s PokéBall.

“There’s no need for that,” Giovanni said hastily. Red relished in the fear in his eyes. “Perhaps you should try.”

Red walked the rest of the way over. He didn’t need to shove Giovanni out of the way (Giovanni had, of course, stepped aside and ushered Red towards the Plasma Grunt) but he did so anyway. The Grunt lifted their head to look at him, and gasped.

“You,” they breathed.

“Yep,” Red said, anticipating the inevitable ‘You’re the child Champion of Kanto and destroyer of Team Rocket’.

“You’re in Lord N’s band!”

Red fought the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s right.”

“Then why are you betraying him?”

“I dunno, he’s kind of a fuckwit and wrong about everything,” Red replied. He frowned. “Do you actually believe in that Pokémon Liberation bullshit?”

“Team Plasma is just,” the Grunt replied. “Team Plasma is righteous. Our Lord will guide us to the liberation of pokémon, and perfection of our world.”

“Are you Christian?” Red asked.

The Grunt looked confused and vaguely upset. “No! What would that have to do with anything?”

Red shrugged.

“Whatever,” the Grunt muttered. “I’ll have you know Lord N is perfection.”

Red laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Even after he’d fallen to the floor, even when there were tears rolling down his cheek and he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t stop laughing. He’d never laughed so hard in his entire life.

“I think Red here disagrees with you,” Giovanni said smarmily.

That killed Red’s laughter.

“Yeah,” Red said, wiping his eyes and climbing back up to his feet. “I mean… have you met him?”

“Of course I have!” the Grunt cried. “I attended his coronation!”

Red raised his eyebrows. “He was seriously coronated?”

“ _Of course he was coronated_!”

Red looked over at Giovanni. “What’re you even expecting to get out of a brainwashed cult victim?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.”

Red glared.

“Information,” Giovanni sighed. “It’s important to understand what Team Plasma believes and to what extent.”

“Let them go,” Red ordered.

“After he’s seen you? When he will simply inform Ghetsis of what you’re doing?” Giovanni looked amused. Red hated it when Giovanni looked amused. “I didn’t realise you were so willing to let our affiliation be known, Red.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Red groaned. “You’re not killing them.”

“Of course not, my son would hardly approve,” Giovanni replied. Red sincerely believed that was the only thing stopping him. “No, I think I will become good friends with this Grunt.”

“My _name_ is Jon!” the Grunt cried.

“Jon, you’re kind of a whiny bitch,” Giovanni said flatly.

“Maybe if you didn’t _kidnap me_ and _insult Lord N_ and _make me listen to Nickelback_ I wouldn’t be complaining!”

“Jon’s got a good point,” Red said.

“What’s done is done,” Giovanni dismissively replied. “Jon will have to stay with me here.”

“No _oooo_ ,” Jon whined.

“You’re whining again, Jon.”

“Why doesn’t he stay with me?” Red asked.

“Red, I’m hurt. Don’t you trust me?”

Red stared, deadpan.

“That would still have the problem of N finding out what you are doing, or Ghetsis finding out,” Giovanni pointed out.

“Maybe N would realise he’s wrong,” Red said.

“Only failure will convince him,” Giovanni replied. “I would know.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jon interrupted. “He’s a _genius_.”

“You’re starting to piss me off,” Red sighed.

Jon shut up.

Red honestly couldn’t think of any alternative. Giovanni knew it too, from the size of that smirk.

“Fine, he’ll stay here,” Red said. “But _no_ torture. Or I will tell Silver.”

“Of course. But does Nickelback really constitute as torture?”

Red shrugged.

Jon sobbed.

“Untie him,” Red said. “Don’t — don’t be all… _you_ at him. Be nice.”

“Of course,” Giovanni said.

“And don’t do crap like this again, it’s _not_ gonna make Silver tolerate you again,” Red added. “Just — just be nice.”

The advice was probably worthless when Red wasn’t entirely sure that Giovanni knew how to be nice, but he couldn’t do anything else for Jon without compromising his own safety. And honestly Jon would clearly benefit from time away from worshipping N, the ultimate whiny bitch.

“Put those speakers down, boys,” Giovanni ordered his Grunts.

They placed the speakers at their feet but didn’t remove their earmuffs.

“There is nothing else,” Giovanni said. “Unless you have something to tell me…?”

“No.”

“Then we’re done here.”

As Red walked away, he heard Giovanni start the song again.

‘ _Look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh_.’

Red sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I don't own Photograph or anything affiliated with Nickelback.
> 
> I do, however, own Jon the Whiny Bitch; he's my totes high-quality OC and u no steal ok


	9. Bad Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the paparazzi is pretty worked up about Black's 'disappearance', Red's life is once again thrown into chaos thanks to N Harmonia, professional fuckwit, who causes the reappearance of Red's estranged father.

For the next few days, Red faked illness. Surprisingly, when he called Sycamore to explain he was sick, the man cooed apologetically and said, “It must be this Nickelback, it is very, ah, how do you say… shithouse. Even being exposed to a house made of shit would make anyone sick, no?”

“…uh…”

“Do not worry Red, I’ll explain everything to Elesa,” Sycamore declared. “You focus on getting better before our concert on Friday at the Suntory Mall grand re-opening.”

“Re-opening…?”

“They had to close to remove the whiskey from their fountains,” Sycamore dismissively replied. “Americans are very strange when it comes to alcohol.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Try to be better for rehearsal on Thursday, yes?”

“I’ll try.”

Red spent most of those days lying around in whatever deserted forest clearings Char could find, trying not to think about Green or Team Rocket. He managed to do nothing _but_ think about Green. He came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, it was best to have a frank and honest conversation about how much he loved Green. Potential humiliation aside, it would’ve been pretty weird if Green liked him back — especially considering heterosexuality was only a myth.

On Thursday morning, Red could barely get in the building for all the reporters and paparazzi clustered outside, barely held back by security. He was glad he’d left Pika at the hotel, or else there would have been deaths. He tried to sneak through, but one immediately looked at him, gasped, and shouted, “It’s Red!”

“Seriously?! Red?!”

And then the cameras were going off in his face as they all shouted questions in unison. Red couldn’t make out anything they were saying, they were all shouting so loudly and quickly. He kept trying to shove his way through, but he didn’t really have much muscle to help. Luckily, the security guards did their jobs; they shoved the paparazzi-journo-fusion aside and dragged Red through, one not letting him go until the was well inside the building.

“What’s going on?” Red asked.

“Some singer or drummer or something’s gone missing,” the security guard replied. “Elesa covered it up for as long as she could.”

“Missing? Like kidnapped?”

“Dunno. Just missing.” He patted Red on the head. “This is a tough world ya got yourself into, Red.” And with that, he walked back outside.

“Weird,” Red mumbled.

Red made it to the elevator before he was stopped again. This time, Sycamore rushed over, giving a bird-like shriek. “Oh, thank the lord, you’re all right!”

“Uh, yeah, just had to get the Nickelback out of my system,” Red said, glancing back at the door. “What happened…?”

Sycamore looked like he was going to burst into tears.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Red said hastily. “I’ll find out sooner or later, I could use that Internet thing.”

Sycamore started crying. Fuck. “Oh _Red_ , you overwhelmingly sweet and considerate boy! It’s true, it’s a very emotional period for everyone. Of course, I have never actually _met_ Black, and yet…”

Red stared. “Did you say Black? Like from that emo band Blue’s in?”

Sycamore nodded, wiping his eyes delicately with the hem of his coat. “Such a tragic loss… oh no… my mascara is running…”

Nervous, Red asked, “Does N know?”

“No, he is late again,” Sycamore sighed. “I appreciate Starbucks as much as the next man of our aesthetic subculture, but there comes a point when it’s simply too far.” He placed a hand on Red’s shoulder. “But now is not the time for despair, my dear child. I have no doubt that it would have been Black’s wish that we continue to make beautiful music!”

“Yeah, sure,” Red mumbled.

Sycamore steered him into the elevator. Red thought he should probably have some feelings about Black being missing, but he didn’t. If N had kidnapped him, there wasn’t much change N would hurt him much. N was probably too stupid to kidnap anyone. No, Black had probably run away. He didn’t seem particularly dedicated to the emo way of life.

Of course, Hugh was already in the room when Red arrived. He gave Red a courtesy nod, then went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. It looked like texting, but Red didn’t believe Hugh had friends.

“Please wait here, I’ll be right back with N,” Sycamore said. “Don’t go anywhere, please!”

As the elevator door shut behind him, Red asked, “What’s his deal? Was he abandoned as a kid or something?”

Hugh cast him a withering look. “Your fixation is getting old. You’ve got the money for therapy, go get it.”

Red was so deeply offended he forgot how to function.

Sycamore returned ten minutes later with a very pissed off N and a Ghetsis who had completely given up on the psychotic smile and was glaring at his son as though he was mentally listing ways to murder him. N glared directly at Red, like it was his fault.

“You,” he spat. “What did you _do_?”

Red shrugged.

N slammed his hands down on the table, his glittery rainbow of jelly bracelets completely destroying any change he ever had of being threatening. “I _know_ it’s your fault Black’s missing! You and your connections to Team Rocket!”

“Let’s not forget his connection to Ash Ketchum,” Ghetsis said. Red thought he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t sure.

“Exactly!” N shouted. “There is no one in the _universe_ more evil than Ash Ketchum!”

“Now, now, that’s very harsh,” Sycamore hastily protested.

“It’s not really,” Red said. “He _is_ incredibly evil.”

Sycamore stared at him in horror. “But — but he’s —!”

“Don’t say his name,” Red warned. “If you say his name again, he’ll appear.”

Everybody stared at him like he was crazy. Even N.

“He’s literally the devil,” Red said, frowning.

“Therapy, dude, seriously,” Hugh groaned. “Look into it.”

“…no, no, we should respect his… cultural wishes…?” Sycamore said, frowning. “We must discuss tomorrow’s concert!” Just like that, Hugh and Ghetsis both looked at Sycamore, who tore his eyes away from Red. “Yes, I think it would be best if —”

Red tuned him out. All he had to know was what to sing. It didn’t matter if people he didn’t like thought he was crazy. They looked at Ash Ketchum and saw the ‘child’ actor behind the longest running children’s television series of all time who tragically ‘disappeared’. They didn’t see the deliberately abandoning bastard who’d been a terrible father to begin with.

When Red glanced up, N was still staring at him.

“What,” Red hissed.

A smirk crossed N’s face as he parted his lips and slowly said, “Ash Ketchum.”

There was an immediate burst of flames. Swearing, Red ducked under the table. As the flames cleared, he could make out blue jeans and the bottom half of what looked like a red-sequin covered tailcoat.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Hugh groaned.

“That’s very rude,” a familiar voice, unchanged in the past eleven years (or since he’d been ten), said. “I’ll forgive you though. Hi, I’m Neo Satan Ash Ketchum! From the pits of Hell!”

Red’s eyes flickered to the door. If Ash became distracted by something like, say, the utter ridiculousness of Team Plasma, maybe he’d be able to —

A hand grabbed him.

“Thanks to whoever summoned me, Hell’s been frozen over ever since Nickelback hit number one,” Ash said. Red tried to get away, but living on a mountain hadn’t really given him great muscles. He glanced at N’s familiar glittery manicure. _The bastard_. “I wanted to break out and get my revenge but, gotta be summoned.”

Red bit N’s hand. It wasn’t very effective.

“Nickelback is _clearly_ a divine creation,” Ash continued thoughtfully. “But I’ll destroy them. I’ll destroy all the good in the world.”

“Is… is this a joke…?” Sycamore asked.

Red tried to pry N’s fingers off one by one to no avail. Why did such a pathetic person have such an intense grip?

“No, but did you hear the one about the short psychic who escaped from prison? He’s a small medium at large!”

Red closed his eyes and fought the urge to groan as Ash laughed at his own stupid joke.

“How… how clever…” Sycamore said. He sounded as mortified as Red felt.

“Yeah, that’s me, Neo Satan Ash Ketchum,” Ash said. “So, what’d you summon me for?”

“It was an accident, I believe,” Ghetsis said. “Your son warned mine, but —”

Ash’s feet moved as he stood up straighter. “Red’s here?”

Red fought frantically as N dragged him from under the table. It was no use; soon, he was glancing up at his father as Ash stared at him in wonder. He looked the same as Red remembered him, short as a ten-year-old with stupid hair and z’s on his face, same wrinkles that always made people on the street do double-takes after stopping them to fawn over _Ash Ketchum_. He was even wearing the iconic baseball cap from his original television series, modified to have small horns on either side of his head. Between that, the red sequin tail-coat and the jeans, Ash finally looked every bit the horrible wanker he really was.

“Red,” Ash gasped. He glanced Red over. “Oh, Red… my son…”

Red clenched his fists.

“…you shouldn’t wear those pants, you look too much like Grandpa Luci.”

Red rolled his eyes. He stood up, making sure to shove N as he did. N sneered at him.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“But it’s been so long!” Ash protested.

“Who’s fault is that,” Red snapped.

“Well, yours, you could’ve summoned me or —”

Red grabbed the nearest non-fixed object (a pot-plant) and threw it at Ash’s stupid short _face_. Ash flicked his wrist. It exploded into flames. Sycamore wailed something about his paycheque.

“You’re _literally_ evil,” Red said.

Ash frowned. “Why’re you saying that like it’s a bad thing…?”

Red growled. “Go back to Hell.”

“Aw, but it’s frozen over!” Ash cried. “And there’s all these nice mortals to make contracts with! And Nickelback to destroy!”

“I don’t _care_.”

Ash pouted and grumbled, “I’m positive Nickelback’s the work of angels.”

Groaning loudly, Red wrenched the door open.

“C’mon Red, what better bonding experience is there than destroying angels with your dad?” Ash called. “I did it all the time with Grandpa Luci!”

Red slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. Heart pounding, he ran down the hall towards the stairs. He thought about calling his mum, but she’d probably be _happy_ at the news. She’d always been pretty okay with her husband leaving them to go become ruler of Hell. The only person who’d be properly outraged would be Green.

Running down the stairs, Red scrolled through his contacts. He double-checked it was actually Green before he hit call. He stopped, leaning against the cold stone wall of the stairwell as he waited for Green to pick up.

“…Red?” Green asked, sounding uncertain.

“My dad’s back,” Red blurted. “I’m, I’m running from him right now, actually.”

Green swore. “Where are you?”

“At my record company, in the —”

There was a loud noise from Green’s end of the call. Green swore again, there was a shuffling sound, and he loudly said in a strained voice, “H-hey Mr Ketchum.”

“Hi there Green,” Ash’s voice said. “Wow, you’ve gotten tall, haha!”

“You… you haven’t.”

“So, you been up to no good?”

“Yes sir.”

There was a tongue-clicking noise. If Ash was doing the finger pistol thing… “That’s what I like to hear.”

Red barely contained his groan.

“So, about my son —”

Red hung up. He clutched his phone tightly and continued down the stairs. If he left the building, he’d have to deal with the paparazzi again. It was much more preferable to dealing with Ash. And if Ash followed him there, he’d have to deal with questions about why he’d suddenly vanished when Red was eight.

His phone started to ring. Red quickly checked it, saw it was Green, and answered.

“He’s gone,” Green said. “I told him to go talk to your new BFF, Silver.”

Red felt such an overwhelming surge of affection he couldn’t stop himself before he happily sighed, “I love you.”

Green felt silent. “You — you what?”

Swearing, Red hung up again. He quickly turned his phone off. Burying his face in his hands, Red sunk to the ground. Overpowered and outsmarted by _N Harmonia_ , forced to endure his humiliating father Neo Satan Ash Ketchum, accidental love confessions… could his day get any more humiliating?

“Wow, that was smooth,” an unfamiliar voice called.

Red looked up, panicked. A brunet teenager with extremely messy brown hair made even worse by an extremely tacky visor approached him, hands in their over-sized _Monochrome_ hoodie.

“Hugh told me weird shit was going down, but that was just —” they shook their head sympathetically.

“You know Hugh?”

They nodded. “I’m Kyouhei, I’m his partner.”

Red stared.

“In crime-fighting,” Kyouhei hastily added. “We’re off romantically at the moment, but we’ll be on again soon, mark my words.”

“Crime-fighting?” Red repeated.

“Yep, we’re spies,” Kyouhei said, sitting beside Red. “Working with Interpol to bring down Team Plasma.”

“So Hugh’s a spy and a popstar?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t see a problem with that?”

“Nope.” Kyouhei frowned. “Should I?”

Red shrugged.

“So, your dad’s Satan, huh?”

Red sighed. “Neo Satan. My grandfather, Lucifer, was the original.”

Kyouhei nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s an inherited title…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Are you next in line to be Satan?”

Red scowled. “ _No_. Cos I don’t wanna be Satan.”

“But if you did…?”

Red reluctantly nodded.

Kyouhei let out a low whistle. “Hey, does that make you the Anti-Christ?”

Red groaned.

Kyouhei patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry if I’m being too curious. I _always_ told Hugh, it wouldn’t make sense if there isn’t some supernatural conspiracy going on, look at how new breeds of pokémon keep suddenly popping up in the hundreds, he told me I was ridiculous and unrational, but I _insisted_ , the truth is out there, and look who’s right!” Unnecessarily, Kyouhei added, “It’s me. I’m right.”

Red didn’t see any point in replying.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Kyouhei said. “I’ve been watching all this drama from the background and I can guarantee you, Green Oak’s crazy about you.”

“I know,” Red mumbled. “He’s jealous. It makes him crazy.”

“Oh, not like that,” Kyouhei laughed. “Though, that’s definitely true.”

Red didn’t want to talk about Green, so he asked, “What’re you guys gonna do about Team Plasma?”

“We don’t have enough evidence to arrest them yet, and unfortunately your creepy frenemy N scared off our best bet of getting some,” Kyouhei sighed. “Asking someone to be your co-king on the first date, of all the rookie mistakes…”

“Uh… is that what happened to Black…?”

“Yes,” Kyouhei sighed. “But he’s fine, he’s being a Pokémon Trainer, so he’s probably happier. Just sucks from my work point of view, y’know?”

Red was more relieved to hear Black was fine than he’d expected, even if he had absolutely no reason to trust or believe anything Kyouhei said.

“So, Giratina —?”

“Satan is the human embodiment of Giratina’s sins, created by Arceus to enable Giratina to continue to do its job while vicariously enjoying whatever Satan does,” Red droned. “But Satan is bound to Hell unless summoned. Then he can leave Hell until a contract’s been fulfilled.”

“You make it sound so boring. But I guess it is the family business for you, huh?”

Red sighed in frustration.

Kyouhei patted him reassuringly on the head. “Come on, I’ll help you sneak outta here. But do me a favour and don’t run away like Black did. I think if you keep doing your popstar thing, we’ll get the evidence we need to bring down Team Plasma.”

“Probably,” Red said. He didn’t need to bring up Team Rocket or Giovanni. Not when he was already literally the devil’s son.

*

By the time Red turned his phone on again (locked inside the safety of his hotel room with plenty of holy water), he had seven missed calls from Green, twenty from Sycamore and a further fifty panicked text messages. After the apologies for N deciding to summon Satan, Sycamore started texting Red the song line-up for their concert the next day and promised a car to pick him up from his hotel the next day at noon. The final text read: ‘Your father is very proud of your music career.’

Gritting his teeth, Red vindictively deleted all Sycamore’s messages except the song line-up. It made him feel a little better.

Green had left him a voicemail message. Red hesitated, but really, what could Green say that would be worse than Ash being out of Hell? So he hit play.

In a frustrated but completely sincere voice, Green sighed, “You idiot, I love you too.”

Grinning, Red flopped back on his bed. He hit replay on the message five more times. Was there a way to download a voicemail message? Or make it his ringtone?

“He loves me,” Red murmured. “Hey, Pika. Green loves me.”

Pika groaned with disgust.

Red sat up, staring at his phone. “I can call him,” he realised. “I can talk to him right now.”

Pika jumped off the bed, running to the bathroom.

“You don’t understand love,” Red called after him. He dialled Green’s number, pressing the phone to his ear with a grin.

Green answered almost immediately with an anxious, “Hey, you okay?”

Nodding, Red said, “You love me.”

For a moment, Green was silent. When he spoke, Red could see his grin via his voice. “Shit Red, could you sound any more lovesick, loser?”

“I could play your voicemail, if you want a real lovesick loser.”

“Whatever, the biggest loser’s clearly the one who freaked out and hung up on me, like I could ever _not_ love you back.”

“Not the one who pretended not to be counting how long I was on that mountain?”

“That fucking mountain,” Green growled.

“Are you actually jealous of a mountain?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Red had never felt more flattered in his entire life.

“Seriously though, what’s going on with your dad?” Green asked. “I thought he couldn’t leave unless he was summoned?”

“N happened,” Red replied. “He summoned him just to piss me off.”

“What a fuckwit.”

“Yeah, but whatever.” N didn’t seem like such an annoying problem any more. “Dad just wants to destroy Nickelback, no big deal.”

“Um… okay…?”

Red rolled his eyes. “He thinks Nickelback’s angels.”

Green laughed. It was great to hear again.

“He’s probably gonna try convincing me to go to Hell, but —”

“You’re not gonna,” Green finished for him. “You’re not cut out to be Satan. Even if you’re pretty fuckin’ horrible sometimes.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Whatever, Wonderwall.”

“You’re _not_ making that my nickname. It’s ‘my flame’ or nothing.”

Green snorted. “Real punny, Red. D’ya even like music, though? Or is this really all some elaborate prank?”

“Started like that, but I like it,” Red admitted. He glanced nervously towards the bathroom. “You should come to my concert tomorrow. I’m singing a song I wrote about you.”

“It is _Wonderwall_?”

“ _No_. It’s almost as good though.”

Green hesitated before quietly asking, “Is every part of this relationship gonna be wrapped in irony and mocking?”

“Until my dad leaves? Probably.”

Green sounded more enthusiastic as he replied, “Cool.”

“Seriously though. Come to my concert. At Suntory Mall, or whatever, the one with the whiskey fountain.”

“Your band is seriously fucked up, Red.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to go solo,” Red replied. As he said it, he realised for the first time that he wanted it. “After N gets arrested, I suppose.”

He knew Green was rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you there, since you’re so demanding and all. Go to sleep.”

“Tell me you love me again,” Red demanded.

“Dude, no fair, you’ve got it recorded, I bet you listened to it a million times like the loser you are, and I’ve got nothing,” Green whined.

“I’ll record you an entire album of love songs, jerkass,” Red replied. “Maybe two. Cos I love you.”

“Yeah, one more time, Red.”

Red bit back his laugh. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Red couldn’t resist throwing in a “Smell ya later” before he hung up. He grabbed his pillow, clutched it to his chest and rolled onto his side, hugging it tightly, fighting the overwhelming urge to shout with happiness and excitement and pure undiluted love.

*

True to Sycamore’s promise, a limo was waiting for Red outside the hotel at noon the next day. Red let the attendant usher him towards a door, holding Pika to his chest as he climbed in. He barely sat down before the door was slammed shut and the limo started moving.

“Good morning, son. Sleep well?”

Red groaned.

Ash appeared, lounging on the seat opposite him with a grin. “Invisibility. One of many perks of being Satan.”

Red glared.

“That was a very cunning trick you and Green played with Silver,” Ash remarked. “I’m disappointed what became of him. I always used to like Silver, but now he’s so…” Ash shuddered.

Maybe Gold had been right about Silver changing.

“Anyway, I’m really looking forward to seeing you perform,” Ash said. “I always hoped you’d go into show business like me.”

“ _Not_ like you,” Red growled. “I wouldn’t ever try to play a ten-year-old at _thirty_.”

“Acting was fun. You should try it.”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, your pikachu could co-star.”

Sparks formed on Pika’s cheeks.

“Have you made a contract yet?” Red demanded.

“Yeah, with one of the Harmonias,” Ash replied. “But I’m not telling you which one until you agree to be my heir.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“C’mooooooon,” Ash pleaded. “I can give you anything you want! Your grandpa made it so I could keep making my TV show for the rest of my life. Just like I asked when I was ten.”

Red looked out the window pointedly.

“Don’t get embarrassed cos you’re so old,” Ash said kindly. “I still love you, even if you’re a late bloomer.”

“You don’t love me and I’m not doing it.”

“I do love you, and you will.”

Red ignored him for the rest of the drive. As soon as they arrived, he opened the door, grabbed Pika, and stormed off. He ignored Ash calling after him, and double-ignored the paparazzi. Sycamore rushed out to greet him.

“Come on, my dear boy,” he said, dragging Red inside. “Are you prepared?”

“So long as you keep that bastard away from me, sure.”

Sycamore paused. “I’m sorry, my dear, I’m not certain if you mean your father or N.”

“Both’d be ideal.”

Sycamore smiled.

They’d set up a stage in the food-court, near the ex-whiskey fountain. The crowd looked like they’d been waiting for hours. Red scanned it for Green, but couldn’t see him.

Of course he had no trouble spotting Ash, what with the red sequins.

As they were led to the stage, N whispered to Red, “I didn’t think he would actually appear. I thought you were delusional.”

“Only one of us is delusional, and it’s definitely you,” Red replied. “Don’t talk to me, assmunch.”

N kept talking anyway. “I should have known the devil would be a human.”

“Fucking _shut up_ ,” Hugh groaned.

N did.

“Let’s have a good concert,” Red said as dryly as he could.

As soon as he stepped on stage, his eyes drifted to Ash’s. He quickly looked away, scanning the crowd again for Green. Spotting him near the fountain, Red took his place on stage with a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, because he was naturally so talented, it was hard to use music as a distraction. Red was so used to his songs they barely worked as a proper distraction from something as horrible as Neo Satan Ash Ketchum grinning up at him. Especially since N had whined his way into performing most of the songs in Red’s absence.

How could Ash just turn up and expect Red to like him? Red thought he’d made his stance on the whole ‘son I’m abandoning you to go rule Hell’ thing quite clear, and he’d never particularly liked his father before that. The whole ‘pure evil’ thing would never help things. And he had the gall to ask Red to be his heir. Like Red would ever want to help Ash. Or run Hell so Ash could retire like Lucifer. As far as Red was concerned, Ash could stay Satan forever. It wasn’t his business, nor his legacy, and it never would be. Red’s business and legacy were bad but fun pop songs, and he had one to perform for his rival-turned-boyfriend.

N moodily grumbled into his microphone, “And now Red’s going to do something terrible.”

Red flipped him off, snatching the microphone. “It’s gonna be amazing.” He glanced at Hugh. “Cue music.”

Hugh stared like he hated him as he reached over to the keyboard and hit a button. Techno music swelled from it. Red immediately started to sing:

“ _Remember the feelings, remember the day, my stone heart was breaking, my love ran away_.”

It was hard not to start laughing with Green looking at him like that, but Red was a professional.

“ _The moment I knew I would be someone else, my love turned around and I fell…_ ”

The tempo increased and the drums became louder.

“ _Be my bad boy, be my man, be my weekend lover but don’t be my friend_ ,” Red sang quickly. “ _You can be my bad boy but understand that I don’t need you in my life again_.”

Green stared at him in disbelief, definitely saying, “Oh my _god_ Red what the _fuck_.”

Red blew him a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Green knows about Neo Satan Ash Ketchum because he's always been the first person Red runs to when he gets too overwhelmed/stress x:
> 
> 'Bad Boy' is the property of Cascada, Zooland and Robbins. Can you believe that such a fandom-famous song never even charted anywhere in the entire world??
> 
> Huge thanks to my friend Monochrome for supplying me with both Neo Satan Ash Ketchum's dad joke and the hat/tailcoat design. It was truly evil, bless you Monochrome.


	10. Better the Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > [pic.twitter.com/0CnZu09rkT](https://t.co/0CnZu09rkT)
>> 
>> — despairity.txt (@despairity_bot) [February 22, 2017](https://twitter.com/despairity_bot/status/834402577705885696)  
> 

**Track 9:**

**Better the Devil You Know**

If life were fair, Red would be able to avoid Ash and see Green basically all the time. Life wasn’t fair though. Every morning Red woke up to Ash looming over him, grinning, and holding a tray of charcoal.

“I made you breakfast son,” Ash’d say, “Brock’s a really good teacher, this food’s amazing, watch —”

And then it was always so bad even Neo Satan himself couldn’t eat the substance formerly known as food.

Then Ash would follow Red around everywhere. Red did his best to ignore him, but it was pretty hard to pretend the literal devil wasn’t following you everywhere criticising your life choices for not being ‘evil enough’. The whole thing would’ve given Red more sympathy for N if he didn’t hate N and if Ghetsis was anywhere near as bad as the _literal. Fucking. Devil_.

Of course, Red tried looking up a spell to ward off demons. Every time he thought he was alone, he’d try searching for one on the nearest computer. And every single time the computer would freeze, and in a HAL 9000 voice, say, “I’m sorry, Red. I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Then the screen would warp until Ash crawled out of it, laughing, “Fooled you, son!”

But he hadn’t fooled Red. He’d never fooled Red.

Red was getting bored with the routine. Especially because it limited his contact with Green to texting, and Green wasn’t very good at texting. It was obvious his grandpa had taught him how to do it.

At any rate, Red had to learn a lot of choreography for their upcoming tour.

“Why do you always make me dance on poles?” Red asked Sycamore.

“ _I_ didn’t design this,” Sycamore replied, hurt. “I suppose it is a simple yet elegant and powerful artform to which you have a great deal of natural talent.”

“I don’t wanna do it in leather pants.”

“Too bad, art is suffering.”

N didn’t have to pole-dance. N didn’t have to dance in general. He couldn’t do it, he kept tripping over his own feet, and then Red was the bad guy for calling him a poser.

“What kind of popstar can’t dance,” Hugh would agree, trying to form a solid alliance.

“Why doesn’t _he_ have to dance?!” N cried.

“He is the drummer,” Sycamore said. “Look, it’s quite simple, my dear, let’s just, try again.”

It didn’t matter how much they tried; some people were destined for failure. N was definitely one of them.

Every day Sycamore looked one step closer to breaking. There was a noticeable twitch in his eye every time someone complained about doing their job. Red was almost starting to feel sorry for the guy.

Almost. The pole-dancing was an effective way to kill any budding sympathy.

The tour was coming together, unfortunately. Though part of Red had to wonder what was so unfortunate about it when he was so naturally gifted as a pop star. Between avoiding his father, mastering pole-dancing and having a boyfriend he got to talk to sometimes and text a lot, it was almost like being an actual adult.

Then the press junkets started.

Why did media people ask such stupid questions? Especially about his father? Red was running out of ways to stare them down, and they just kept asking the same question over and over in the same ways. They tried to make N go on a game show but he made the host cry by explaining the vast nature of Pierre de Fermat’s number theories. And when they put Red on a panel show, apparently telling everyone to either go climb a mountain with their pokémon, go play with their pokémon more, or join a band and learn to pole-dance for revenge was bad.

Hugh didn’t have to do anything. The bastard.

It was only because Sycamore’s eyes twitched so much that Red didn’t ask why they had to bother with a junket when their tour tickets sold out in twenty minutes. Well, okay, that and Green telling him it would, at least, keep him away from his father. But it was also keeping him away from Green. He had to figure out which Harmonia had signed a contract with Ash and how to break it or he’d never get to kiss Green and stuff.

But it wasn’t exactly _easy_. N was even more annoying than usual, alternating between angry tantrums and tearful ones all while constantly checking his phone. Sycamore always tried to take it off him before he went on air and always ended up being the one crying. Turned out N had a real knack for pinning Sycamore’s head against walls. He was less skilled at punching Sycamore with his own fists but persistently tried anyway.

Ghetsis was also eternally pissed off and muttering vaguely evil things like, “Yes, that will fit in nicely with my — I mean, our — plans” but they were usually to do with what clothes N had to wear or songs he had to perform.

It was amazing how far from subtle Team Plasma could be, all without Red figuring out their plan. Did they even have one? Sure, Giovanni seemed to think so, but why the fuck would Red trust him?

Red had managed to sneak back out to the warehouse, in moments Green was mysteriously busy and Ash was on the phone to his pikachu, giving long detailed advice on how to run Hell in his absence.

The first time, Giovanni sneered down at him and drawled, “Well, well. Daddy’s little boy.”

He never brought it up again. Something about Red breaking his nose. And Pika electrocuting him.

Usually though, Red found Giovanni lazily playing chess against the Plasma grunt, insisting he knew what he was doing and that the most appropriate thing Red could do was go ahead with the tour. Which, sure, right, sounded like what a gloat-happy egomaniac would do if he actually had a plan.

Three days before their tour began, they were back on Roxy’s show.

“Now remember,” Sycamore said, wringing his hands, “no matter what she says, don’t give in to the anger. Red. You must fight the anger. Do you understand me? Focus on anything but your hatred. Don’t lack focus. Focus on the music. Focus.”

“Are you stereotyping me because of my heritage?” Red asked.

“No!” Sycamore cried. “No! Because of your behaviour!”

“Why even bother?” N said. “What’s even the point in living?”

“Maybe you should join an emo band,” Hugh said to N, “like [bruised].”

N started crying.

Sycamore sighed loudly. “Remember, short interview, then you perform, then you agree to stay.”

When he sat down for the interview, Roxy grinned at Red as if to say ‘Ah, yes, my arch-nemesis.’

“Welcome back to the show,” she said, “you’ve had a very successful time since we last met, haven’t you? Seems like you’ve really stepped up in the professionalism department, hm? Red?”

“God encourages forgiveness,” Red flatly replied. “Even against those who deliberately try to inflict pain upon others.”

“Really,” Roxy said. “Well. You’ve certainly turned heads with your more recent songs. One would almost suspect your dedication to your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ is a joke.”

“Absolutely not,” Red replied. “I encourage everybody to walk far, far away from the path of Satan.”

N stared at him. “Your father is Satan.”

Red stared at him.

“Oh,” N gasped, “I get it.”

“Yes, we’re all surprised to see your father resurface,” Roxy said. “Though I suppose the animosity is still there?”

And to the amazement of the entire world, Hugh said something. “We’re going on tour soon. All over Unova.”

“Yes, you are,” Roxy said, apparently recalling her job. “Excited for your first tour together?”

“Yep,” Hugh said, “I love the band. I love these guys.”

“Of course,” Roxy said. “Well, you’re performing your biggest hit for us today, aren’t you?”

They were. Because N wouldn’t stop sulking, Red had to sing _Toxic_. It felt pretty irrelevant now that Green has been promoted from jerk friend to jerk boyfriend. Roxy cut to commercial after, and they were cleared.

Surprisingly, as they cleared up the stage, N quietly asked Red, “Is that what most humans do? The opposite of what their fathers want?”

“I don’t know,” Red replied. “It’s what anyone should do if their father is evil.”

“Hm. So it doesn’t apply if your father isn’t evil.”

“It can still apply,” Red replied. “Any father who tries to make you live life how he wants, not how you want, is pretty evil.”

“Or simply older and more experienced.”

“Nah, they only say that cos they want you to shut up.”

“Not that it matters,” N said. “I’m only asking to compile data. Ghetsis is a moron incapable of even the most basic of successes.”

“Yep,” Red replied. Like father like son.

They rejoined Roxy on the couch. She ignored them until she was counted back in, then was all smiles again.

“Welcome back,” she said. “I’m here with Unova’s hottest new band, _Natural Harmony_. They’re starting a Unova-wide tour in two days time. Very exciting.”

The audience applauded as directed.

“But,” Roxy said, smile growing. “We have something even more exciting for you, right now! Some breaking news, which I’m thrilled to be breaking to you. Recently resurfaced child-star Ash Ketchum is launching his singing career, right here, right now!”

Red groaned loudly. It was drowned out by the audience screaming.

Roxy continued, “Yes, now we get both father and son, on the same show, exhibiting their talents! So come on out, Ash Ketchum!”

Fighting the urge to run away entirely, Red looked to the stage. Ash walked on stage, waving enthusiastically to the screaming crowd. They weren’t screaming in fear — they were screaming in adoration. “Hello, my adoring public! I’m Neo Satan Ash Ketchum, from the pits of Hell!”

The screaming didn’t even become fearful. Red was so tired of how oblivious humans were.

Ash walked up to the microphone, grin still in place. “I’d like to dedicate this song to the most important person in my life other than me, and my best buddy Pikachu,” he said. “My son, Red.”

Red shouted, “Go back to Hell!”

“Love you too, son!”

Electro pop started playing, and the backing track supplied: “ _Better the devil you know, better the devil you know_!”

Red could only stare in disbelief. It only got worse as his _father started dancing_. Or, well, ‘dancing’; it was more enthusiastic jigging and shoulder-bouncing as he stayed in place, starting to sing:

“ _Say you won't leave me no more, I'll take you back again. No more excuses no, no, cos I've heard them all before, a hundred times or more_.”

The music swelled for the chorus, which Ash delivered loudly, with glee.

“ _I'll forgive and forget, if you say you'll never go. Cos it’s true what they sa-a-ay — it's better the devil you know_!”

The crowd was still cheering! Ash Ketchum was standing before them, singing a truly terrifying love song _at his son_ , all while confessing to be the literal fucking devil, and they kept cheering.

“ _Our love wasn't perfect I know_ ,” Ash sang, actually winking at Red. “ _I think I know the score. But if you say you love me, oh boy, I can't ask for more. I'll come if you should ca-a-all_.”

Red hated the world.

But Ash didn’t notice; he just kept singing: “ _I'll forgive and forget, if you say you'll never go. Cos it’s true what they sa-a-ay — it's better the devil you know_!”

The entire horrible world. Except Green.

“ _I'll be here, every day, waiting for your love to show. Yes it's true what they sa-a-a-ay, it's better the devil you know_!”

As the song fell into nothing but chorus repetition, the audience started clapping along to go with the cheering. When Ash finished, posing expectantly, the cheers became deafening screams.

Red _really_ hated the world.

“Thank you, thank you,” Ash said. “I know. I’m a genius.”

Fuck professionalism. Fuck Sycamore’s blood pressure. Fuck everything. Red had to storm off before Ash came over and talked to him _in public, on television_.

Pika met him in the green room, ditching the sandwich bar to run up to Red when he sensed his mood. Red flopped down, hugging Pika to his chest and groaned.

“That was very rude, son.”

Red groaned again, louder, until he was saying, “Leave me alone.”

“I thought that was the problem? That I left you alone?”

Red closed his eyes, trying to ignore him. But Ash sat next to him on the couch.

“Y’know, what you said before, about God? And Jesus? That really hurt my feelings. I know you were joking but you should try to think harder of others.”

“You’re the _literal devil_.”

“And your father. Neither mean I don’t have feelings too,” Ash replied, “why, I’d dare say I have more feelings than most people.”

Red gave in, opened his eyes, and glared. “What are you _doing_? Why’re you singing now?”

“Officially, it’s to be closer to you, my darling son.”

“You aren’t even good at it.”

“That’s hurtful too.”

“Well, you aren’t!”

Ash grinned. “And neither are Nickelback.”

Red stared.

“It’s perfect,” Ash said, “if I manage to make shitty enough music, I’ll end up with Nickelback opening for me. And then I can finally destroy those angel sons of heaven once and for all!”

Red continued to stare.

“We’re releasing my single tomorrow, it’s a total surprise,” Ash said, “but it’s still going to sell out. Because of who I am.”

“What has this got to do with the Harmonias?” Red asked.

Ash grinned. “Join me and I’ll tell you, son.”

Instead, Red walked out of the room, and snuck from the studio entirely. He was surprised Ash let him go. Did Ash even have a plan? Or was he just doing whatever seemed fun?

Either way, Red would be on tour soon, and all he could do was focus on stopping N. From whatever he was doing.

Wasn’t being a popstar supposed to be about the music?

*

Ash’s song went straight to number one. Red barely noticed because he barely wanted to notice: he had to dodge Sycamore and pack for the tour. Not for him, the label was very clear about how much pink leather he had to wear, but for his pokémon. They were all very clear about their favourite toys, and as if Red would ever leave them behind. Even with Green. Who had mysteriously not been answering his texts all day, like he were the one with a job.

Oh well. At least he wasn’t up a mountain.

Unfortunately Red absolutely had to go into the studio. Last minute rehearsals. He woke up to a call from Green.

“Hey,” Green said casually, “you gotta go to work.”

“I know,” Red mumbled. “Did you see Ash on TV?”

“Uh-huh. Pretty fuckin’ shit, isn’t he?”

“He said he’s trying to be as bad as Nickelback.”

Green snorted. “Yeah, he wishes.”

“Can’t you follow me on tour?” Red asked.

“I have a life.”

“Well, stop.”

“Did you just tell me to die?”

“It’s too early for this,” Red muttered, rolling out of bed. “Fine. You can have a life. But y’know what I wanna do when I get back?”

“I can guess.”

“Have a battle,” Red said.

“That’s exactly what I was gonna guess.”

Red grinned. “I love you.”

“You too.” Green hesitated for a moment before hanging up. Very quickly, he added, “You can thank me then, too.”

“What?”

But Green hung up.

Once he left the hotel, Red made it about five metres before being dragged into a familiar limo.

“Son!” Ash cried, actual tears in his eyes mixed with the worst kind of anger tight around his wrinkles. “Red! Have you seen the news?”

“I have work,” Red replied.

Ash shoved an iPad in his face. It was the charts for that day, posted barely five minutes ago. Red scanned the list, and immediately understood. Ash’s song was no longer number one. There was a new song, one he’d never heard of called _Far Away_.

It was a Nickelback song. And it had also shot straight to number one through some miracle. Replacing Ash’s song.

_Oh_.

“Those divine bastards!” Ash snarled. “Now Hell’s gonna be _double_ frozen-over!”

Red stumbled out of the car.

“No! Son! You have to help me scheme!” Ash shouted.

Red ran inside. His vision was distorted, blurry, but he managed to find his way out of pure habit. Up the studio. He was early. Of course he was early, Green had woken him up, and.

“Are you okay?” Hugh asked.

Red quickly looked around. Hugh was the only other one there, at a laptop. Red snatched it from him.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Sorry, I gotta,” Red said, quickly opening the browser, going to YouTube, searching: _Nickelback Far Away_.

Hugh was growling, “Listen. I’m about five seconds away from unleashing my rage.”

Red hit play. A soft acoustic guitar melody started to play.

“What is this?” Hugh demanded.

The proctological voice of the Nickelback guy started to whine, “ _This time, this place misused, mistakes…_ ”

“Nickelback?!” Hugh snarled. “That’s it! I’m unleashin—”

“Shut up, I’m figuring out what my Satan dad is up to!” Red snapped. “I’m trying to hear!”

“ _Too long, too late, who was I to make you wait? Just one chance, just one breath, just in case there's just one left… cos you know, you know, you know_ …”

Hugh was glaring so hard he was shaking, but Red leant closer as the chorus started:

“ _I love you, I've loved you all along. And I miss you_ _—_ _been far away for far too long. I keep dreaming you'll be with me and you'll never go. I’ll stop breathing if I don't see you anymore._ ”

“Urgh, gross,” Hugh said. “Is this what Nickelback thinks is romantic? What douchebags.”

Yes. What douchebags.

“Wait, is Nickelback linked to your dad? Does that mean it’s linked to Plasma?! NICKELBACK!”

Red shook his head. He kept listening. He didn’t want it to be true.

“ _I wanted you to stay, cos I needed, I need to hear you say, that I love you, I’ve loved you all along. And I forgive you for being away for far too long._ ”

But it was true. It was obviously true.

“ _So keep breathing cos I'm not leaving you anymore. Believe it, hold on to me, and never let me go._ ”

“This song,” Red whispered.

“Dude, are you crying?” Hugh asked. “Over _Nickelback_?”

“You don’t understand,” Red said, “this song is _about me_.”

“…this Nickelback song? Is about you?”

Red nodded, wiping his eyes.

“Okay,” Hugh said, “I finally believe your dad is the literal devil, because you have to have no soul to relate to Nickelback that much.”

“That’s the point,” Red said, “it’s an ironic fratboy douche asshole torturing Satan. What else could Nickelback be?”

“Uh. Literally what?”

Hugh wouldn’t understand. But Red did. He knew the truth of Nickelback now: it was Green.

Green was Nickelback all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man last time i updated this fic i was still just studying pr & communications, now i actually work in those fields and can confirm press junkets are the WORST
> 
> ANYWAY sorry it took me so long!!!! some of you know from my other fics/twitter/tumblr the kind of personal/professional stuff that was going down. i lost my sense of humour & personality for a while, and i really didn't wanna force chapters. i think comedy is the hardest genre to write because you _have_ to feel it, and i wasn't. again, i'm so sorry, but *points back at the video*
> 
> also. i'm not sure how many people will know neo satan ash ketchum's song. i mean, i wasn't even alive when it came out, and i'm so old. but, Kylie Minogue is amazing, so, [do yourself a favour and watch this amazingly late-80s music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tto_nmsND_o)
> 
> also it's my birthday in about 10mins if that encourages any forgiveness for being.... Far Away For Far Too Long 
> 
> i'm sorry i regret that joke immediately
> 
> see you all soon!! (and i do mean soon)


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